Helandros, Helepolis: Destroyer of Men, Destroyer of Cities
by thatisanicecoat
Summary: Set after the events of "One Against an Army", Xena and Gabrielle must not let Athens fall to the new general of the Persian Army. This general, however, leads a very personal crusade against the Warrior Princess, a crusade born of the destruction caused by Xena's early Reign of Terror. Based in part on Herodotus' history of Queen Artemisia of Halicarnassus.
1. Prelude

**Helandros, Helepolis:**

**Destroyer of Men, Destroyer of Cities**

* * *

"Of the lower officers I shall make no mention, since no necessity is laid on me; but I must speak of a certain leader named Artemisia , whose participation in the attack upon Greece, notwithstanding that she was a woman, moves my special wonder."

_-_Herodotus on Queen Artemisia of Halicarnassus

* * *

_I burn, I shiver_

_Out of this sun and_

_Into this shadow_

_-V. Woolf, The Waves_

* * *

PRELUDE

"Come up now," the warrior soothed in a low voice, passing a hand over the sweating flank of her warhorse. Above, the sun sat in the crown of the sky, obscured by a grey cloud cover which served only to insulate the Grecian plain in an oppressive humidity. Contrary to what was normally custom, the warrior walked alongside her mount, choosing to give up her saddle in service of her wounded friend. And yet, their journey progressed swiftly due in part to the warrior woman's long, graceful strides over the red earth. Rising from the horizon in the distance, they could see the gleaming white pillars of the Parthenon atop Mount Pantelkos.

"Athens," breathed the warrior's companion, from atop the horse. As the two had been silent for most of their hurried journey, the warrior looked up at the petit blonde woman half-draped over the saddle horn.

"How're you feeling?" the warrior intoned, fingering the bandage around her companion's foot in the stirrup.

"Tired," answered Gabrielle. Without a word, the warrior reached up and grabbed the reins, pulling her mount to a stop.

"Here, climb down," she said, offering up a hand, "I want to check that shoulder".

"Please, Xena, I'm fine. We need to make haste," replied Gabrielle.

"Athens can wait. That arrow wound can't."

Shaking her head, Gabrielle placed a hand on her warrior friend's shoulder and eased herself out of the saddle. She did not want to test Xena's patience again: For long hours through the night, when her Fate seemed dismal and death near, she had argued with the warrior. Gabrielle knew she had made the right decision, choosing the Greater Good over that of self-preservation. When Xena had, for once, abandoned her path to redemption, and eschewed all notions of altruism in favor of saving her friend's life- it had shocked the wounded bard. Everything they had fought for, everything they had sacrificed would have been for naught, had Gabrielle allowed Xena to save her. And so, she viewed it as her duty to keep her illustrious friend in tireless pursuit of that which was right: They had to stop the Persians; they had to preserve Athens. Now, however, with the Persian forces sufficiently delayed, Gabrielle didn't think it in her best interest to deter Xena any longer.

With Gabrielle now seated in the dust on the side of the well-trodden road, Xena set to work unraveling the bandage around her shoulder and preparing another poultice from their fast-diminishing supply of medicinal herbs.

"We're more than a candlemark's ride from the polis," said the bard, wincing some at the gentle prod of Xena's cold fingertips on her wound.

"I'll ride with you, cut our time in half," mumbled Xena. She inspected the tender, flayed flesh at the edge of the hole in Gabrielle's shoulder; she noted with relief that the greenish tinge of the poison had faded steadily from the wound. "This is looking better…" she mentioned, referencing her observation. As she worked to re-pack the poultice, a look of barely concealed fear passed over her features. "If that bastard traitor hadn't been carrying the antidote-" she began.

"Hush, Xena. We found it. It doesn't matter anymore," Gabrielle cut across.

"It was too close, Gabrielle," the warrior met her friend's eyes and held them. Gabrielle witnessed a flash of anger like lightning across those cerulean depths; the warrior looked away: "It was much too close…" she whispered, more to herself than her companion.

Sensing but not understanding the pain in her friend, Gabrielle rested her hand on the warrior's shoulder and squeezed, wishing to impart some comfort.

"It's over. I'm healing. What we do need to worry about is warning King Leonidas so he can mobilize the Athenian army," said the bard, "How long do you think we have?"

Xena seemed to consider this a moment. "I killed many and wounded more," she said, coming to a rough estimation of the detriment done to the Persian advance party. "It'll take them a moon or so to regroup. They'll have to re-strategize for they no longer have the element of surprise in their favor."

"Do you think it ample enough time to mount a defense?"

"The city's legions are used to foreign threats. I have no doubt Leonidas will have some sort of subsidiary plan in place," replied Xena, "The faster we get there, however-".

"The faster that plan is put into action," Gabrielle finished. "Come on, let's go."

Xena nodded and helped the bard back up into the saddle. Making sure that the bard was secure, the warrior swung up behind her; she reached around to take the reins and felt Gabrielle lean heavily against her, betraying her weakened state. Placing one hand on the smaller woman's hip, Xena dug her heel in to spur Argo closer to those tower points of the grand metropolis in the distance.


	2. I

I.

On either side of them passed the marbled gates of the Greek capital; an armed guard atop the battlements barely registered the famed warrior as she rode by. Their nonchalance served as a clear indicator that the Athenian internal guard knew nothing of the Persian army that lay camped only a few leagues away. At once, Xena threw a leg over her mount and jumped smoothly to the ground. She did not waste a moment in grabbing the arm of a passing infantryman.

"You there," she said, her features dark, "I need to speak with your King."

The soldier laughed and pulled his arm free, clearly undaunted by the murderous scowl that stole over Xena's face. "Aye, I see yer a warrior," the solider appraised, grinning lasciviously at Xena's breastplate.

Xena smiled a tight smile, violence not far from her thoughts. "Take me to King Leonidas," she repeated, "Tell him Xena of Amphipolis must speak with him immediately. It's a matter of great importance."

The grin disappeared from the soldier's face as he registered the memories that that name incurred. "Apologies, Princess, I did not know-" he began.

"Shut up," bit Xena, "Just get moving". Gabrielle looked warily down at them from atop Argo, too tired to soothe the soldier's wounded ego. Merely, she held fast to the saddle horn, as Xena marched them on in pursuit of the man who led them.

King Leonidas sat within his council chambers, listening in vague boredom to his Imperial Herald give reports on the state of the Athenian economy. It was not that Leonidas was a brash man, nor that he did not think these reports were necessary to the proper management of the capital, but simply that he enjoyed the drama that wartimes beheld. Ever since the end of the Persian Wars, the King of Athens had sat at his desk, thoroughly buried to the chin in parchments detailing astronomical war deficits and the pleas of homeless citizens. It was hard, tedious work, and it made the King long for the glory and heat of battle once more.

"The cabbage export of the provincial steppes has increased fourteen percent in the last five seasons-" Adonius, the Imperial Herald, droned on in that monotone of his.

Leonidas stifled a yawn.

Then, startling the Imperial Advisors in their chairs, the doors to the council chambers slammed open, crashing against the stone of the walls. Leonidas flew from his seat, hand immediately on the hilt of his sword. What stood in place of an attacker, however, was the impressive form of the Warrior Princess herself. Behind her, a shorter blonde woman limped within the chamber to stand haphazardly at the warrior's side.

"Xena?" said Leonidas, surprise evident in his voice. "Never one for warning are we?"

"No time," Xena growled, "Listen, we've got trouble."

"I'm listening."

"Persians," was the only word she uttered and looked warily at the many advisors gathered in the council hall.

"Leave us," commanded Leonidas and in moments, only the three of them stood together.

Xena drew closer to the King and related in an urgent voice all that she knew about the Persian advance and how they had delayed them before the pass at Thermoplyae.

"You mean to say, you took on the entire advance legion by yourself?" said Leonidas, awe clearly sounded in his voice.

Xena shrugged it off, "I only bloodied their noses. We've got two days, maybe less before they hit us full on."

"Any idea which direction they'll attack from?"

"They planned on a frontal assault, probably at night, judging by time and location of the advance party. I think their plans have changed though. No saying what Artaxerxes will do," said Xena.

A brief look of confusion passed over Leonidas' face. "Artaxerxes? He was killed at sea many moons ago; it is said that the Persian throne passed on to a descendant of Lygdimas of Halicarnassus."

Gabrielle watched as Xena's face drained of color, as the blue of her eyes became transparent diamonds. "What do they call this leader?" she asked, her voice strained.

"They call him Tetram the Great," answered Leonidas, oblivious to the reaction of the Warrior Princess.

Xena regained her composure readily, however, and bade the King to begin preparations at once. Her interest piqued, Gabrielle kept her stare fixedly on her friend, wondering what such a reaction might mean.

"Meet me at sundown in the main hall. I'd appreciate your advice in these matters, Xena," said the King, walking toward the threshold to call on his guard captain. Before he left, however, he paused and glanced back to the warrior and her companion. "I'll have my man prepare a room in the castle for you both. You look like Hades, Xena, and your friend looks worse."

At Xena's slight smirk, the King disappeared through the double oaken doors.

Xena knelt by the hearth in their private chambers, piling kindling onto the flagstones. Gabrielle sat nearby on one of the two pallets in the room, watching Xena as she worked distractedly to set the tinder afire.

"Why are you starting a fire? It's so hot," asked Gabrielle, surprised at how small her voice sounded. Xena glanced around at her companion, meeting her eyes briefly.

"I'm making you that tea," she said.

Gabrielle huffed, "Xena!"

But the warrior cut her off, "Don't you tell me you're not in pain. You could barely make it up the stairs just now."

Instead of answering, Gabrielle flopped down on the palette, forgetting momentarily about her injury in question. "Ow!" she yelped, and immediately Xena was at her side.

"What are ya doing, huh?" Xena reprimanded, gently however.

Gabrielle tried to raise herself again to her elbows, but Xena put one long-fingered hand on her chest, affectively keeping her in place. The bard looked down and found that the warrior's hand lay directly over her own heart and for some reason, tears of frustration sprang to her eyes. Xena raised her eyebrows at the sudden and inexplicable emotion.

"Ugh," Gabrielle made a disgusted noise, "I'm sorry Xena. If I hadn't gotten injured-"

"Don't-"

"No, it's true! I made a series of stupid mistakes in the last few days. Mistakes that nearly cost a lot of lives. So, please, don't worry about me. Concentrate on what's at hand. I saw that look on your face earlier in the council room. Things are worse than we thought, aren't they?"

Xena merely grimaced.

"Who is this Tetram? And why does he have the mighty Warrior Princess turning white as a banshee?" finished Gabrielle, forcing down the lump in her throat.

Xena stood up, and walked back to tend the fire. Stooping down, she collected a few of the larger logs from the woodpile and threw them on. There was an audible crack from the bark and it made Gabrielle jump. Her friend's behavior was unnerving.

"Is Tetram someone you fought long ago?" she probed.

Xena pulled one of their saddlebags close to her and selected the pouch of tea leaves.

"No, he was just a child when I knew him," she replied. Taking a cooking pot, she stood to grasp the handle of the ladle in the drinking water barrel that sat in the corner of the room. Quickly, she ladled water into the pot and proceeded to hang it over the fire.

"Don't tell me you kidnapped him too," said Gabrielle, being reminded awfully of Ming Tien and the horrid history that he wrecked on both of them.

"No," the word came out more harshly than Xena expected. "No," she softened her voice, "I barely knew Tetram at all. It was his mother that concerned me."

"Who was his mother?" asked Gabrielle, her voice taking on a hushed quality.

Xena turned to look at the bard, the flames dancing hungrily behind her and casting her features into a deep shadow. "Her name was Artemisia of Caria," she said.

"Queen of the Halicarnassian sect of the Persian empire," finished Gabrielle, her eyes widening, "famous for her naval prowess in the Battle of Salami. She was advisor to Xerxes himself! But, Xena, she died right after the end of the Persian Wars. You can't have been more than twenty winters by then."

"Aye, so I was," replied Xena, "it was a few seasons after I fought Cortese that our paths crossed."

"You weren't at your loveliest then, were you?"

"No, I was a beast. And what I did to Artemisia was one of my beastliest acts." Xena glanced to the window and surveyed the setting sun. A lazy shadow drew from the sill to the edge of Gabrielle's palette, teasing at her injured ankle.

"So, you think Tetram is carrying out his mother's vengeance?" asked Gabrielle.

"I don't think this is a petty conquest tactic, no. I think they're out for blood, namely my own and those of my people."

Gabrielle sucked in a breath, "Gods! This is worse than I thought."

"I must go now, Gabrielle. The sun is nearly disappeared and I have to confer with Leonidas. Rest now, and drink the tea will you?"

"I'll drink the tea if you tell me the whole story when you come back," bargained the bard.

A ghost of a smile passed over the warrior's face, "Deal."

With that, Xena grabbed up her sword and sheathed it in the scabbard at her back. She glanced once more at Gabrielle, who struggled to sit up and reach for the satchel that held her scrolls and quill. The warrior swept over to the bag and got out the items she knew her friend was reaching for.

"Sometimes it's scary, Xena" said Gabrielle, referring to her friend's ability to anticipate.

"I'll be back as soon as I can," Xena replied.

In a moment, she was gone.

In the silence that Xena left behind, Gabrielle set herself to the task of writing the preamble to what she knew would be a tale of no small proportions. A thousand questions raced through the annals of her mind: Who was this Artemisia? And what did Xena do to inspire a legacy of retribution? Certainly, she did not kill the Queen, for it is well known that Artemisia leapt to her own death from the cliffs of Leucas. Legend says that she-a woman with status and power and cunning-had fallen in love with a young man, and when he spurned her, she could not bear the weight and thus gave up gravity into the Aegean. For some reason, that did not make sense to Gabrielle.

And so, in the heat of the room and in the fire of her thoughts, Gabrielle drifted off into a fitful sleep- forgetting the tea and the scroll laid out for her purpose. For those hours, the bard dreamed of arrows piercing a veil of darkness and of a warrior standing upon a cliff and of a woman sinking fast into the velvet blackness of the sea.


	3. II

II.

_Beauty and ugliness have one origin. _

_Name beauty, and ugliness is. _

_ Recognising virtue recognises evil. _

_ -_Lao Tzu, _Tao Te Ching (II)_

By the time Xena returned to their quarters, the room was bathed in a liquid darkness. The temperature had dropped considerably and she could feel a palpable chill emanating from the river-stoned walls. On the bed, Gabrielle lay curled in a haphazard q-shape with her blanket tangled around her, her body wracked with shivers. A scroll lay draped half-unfurled over the edge of the pallet, the quill fallen to the floor.

Sweeping soundlessly to the bard's bedside, Xena tried to disentangle the blanket without stirring the woman's limbs wound around it. The bard needed her rest––a bad sprain, an arrow wound, a battle and two days of rough travel–– Xena shook her head. _Sleep now, Gabrielle_, she thought. Sensing, however, that the warrior was near, Gabrielle's eyes drifted open and rested like a lark on olive fronds upon her companion's face. The bard's mouth pulled into a smile.

"You didn't drink the tea," whispered Xena, gesturing to the cooled pot still on the flagstones of the hearth.

"It's freezing in here," said Gabrielle, choosing to ignore the chide.

"I'll re-kindle the fire," said Xena, getting up. Instead, she felt a cool hand on her arm.

"Wait. Come here," the bard gestured to the space beside her on the palette, "and tell me about your meeting with Leonidas."

Complying just for the moment, Xena slid easily beside Gabrielle and shuffled an arm under her smaller body. Gabrielle lay her head on Xena's shoulder, wrapping her good arm around the warrior's midriff. Beneath her cheek, she felt the warmth of the warrior's skin and the steady, rhythmic _tha-thump-tha-thump _of her heartbeat. Gabrielle released a contented sigh, letting their combined energy lull her beyond the pain.

"Spill," she poked Xena in the ribs, lazily.

"Well, it wasn't as productive as I hoped."

"Why?"

Xena took a breath: "Too many disagreements on which walls to fortify, if the reserves should be called in from the western plains, who should lead the exploratory contingent to see where the Persians are camped- same old administrative cow shit. This is why I didn't conquer the world." Xena felt Gabrielle chuckle.

"Oh, is that why?" teased the bard, nudging her again in the side.

"Among other things," replied Xena.

"So did you solve any of this cow shit?"

"So rude!"

"Your words, Warrior Princess," Gabrielle admonished.

"Yes, we did."

"How?"

"I took command of the army," replied Xena. She felt the breathy _Oh_, from Gabrielle rather than heard it. There was silence between them like molasses, each moment dripping laboriously into the next. Xena knew Gabrielle was trying to hold her tongue.

"Just say it, Gabrielle."

"Xena, I don't think you taking command is the greatest idea." The bard sat up with some effort in bed, so she was able to see her companion's eyes. Xena merely looked up at her with a mix of impatience and annoyance. "You said yourself that this Tetram's raid is personal, that he's after your blood. Do you really think that you would be the wisest one lead the Athenian army? We risk turning it into a defence of the Warrior Princess' pride."

"What's that supposed to mean?" spat Xena, getting up at once from the palette. She stalked to the hearth and began shuffling the embers with a poker.

"Just that you react to personal attacks in a very… er, strong way," replied Gabrielle, trying to appease the situation. She watched as Xena stoked the fire and added a few more logs. Within moments, she had the fire roaring like it had hours before.

"Strong?" whispered Xena, turning on her heel, still settled on her haunches.

"Oh, come on, Xena! You have a history with Tetram's people, did Gods-know-what to their queen––".

"Which is why I would be the one with the most experience and knowledge to defeat them. This has nothing to do with my pride, Gabrielle––"

"All right, I'm sorry," there was a tense moment, "Then tell me about Artemisia. Tell me what happened" Gabrielle coaxed, trying to ebb the harshness of her tone. She saw Xena's shoulders stiffen and watched as the woman stood slowly to her full height. For however close she was with the warrior, Gabrielle knew that Xena could always inspire fear in her. But Gabrielle had learned not to shrink under the shadow of her friend's darkness, and the way Xena inspired fear preyed on the very chilling witness of her physical gravity of presence. And yet, when she turned, her face half-lit in the flames, her expression wore not malice or anger, but sadness, incredible sadness.

"I…" began Xena, but her hand fluttered up to her mouth, "I don't know where to begin."

"The beginning is always a good place," said Gabrielle, gently.

Xena nodded and then turned to look once more into the mesmerising jump of the flames.

"I was well into my nineteenth year," she began, "when I gathered a sizeable army and moved north to Thrace. It was then that I first heard about the bounty on Artemisia's head. It was only then that I gave a damn that Greece may fall to the Persians, only then that I saw what I might gain..."

–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

_Those at the Thracian tavern were restless. For many years now, this small town of Abdera had maintained neutrality amongst the Greek and Persian warriors. Every man gets thirsty, Vilkos had said, and my bar is good as any to sell ale to those with coin. That was, until a warlording party decided to breach their highland pass in hopes that the war-ravaged people of Abdera would be easily inclined to give up their landrites and fruit of their soil. At least, that's what one young warlord thought when she marched her army north from Thessaly. But she had been wrong; not only had towns along the route not had enough foodstuffs and supplies to give––even under pain of death––but, they had also kept their pride intact. This meant that her army was not getting the supplies it needed, and she wasn't notching one more Grecian territory onto her belt. All this made for one very moody Warrior Princess._

"_Barkeep, another!" yelled the young warlord, shooting her mug down the length of the cypress bar. Vilkos turned at her voice, and scowled. Standing not a meagre three wagon wheels high, Vilkos looked on this slender warrior woman with no sense of fear. His crude eyes took in the cracked black leather boots with tarnished silver buckles and the high oxidized copper shin greaves, the sun-bleached leather battledress torn some at the seams from her rugged journey, the finely wired copper breastplate that hugged each womanly curve of her body like a flower on a vine, and finally the sharply drawn features of a beautiful face torn into a scowl and the curtain of thick black hair threaded through clay beads and strands of softened leather. _

"_How 'bout you show me some coin?" challenged Vilkos._

"_How 'bout you choose a side, traitor," said Xena, walking down the length of the bar to stand in front of Vilkos. A few warriors in the tavern loyal to the warlord looked around at her advance, and their eyes read trouble._

"_Hey, you want to talk politics, talk somewheres else. Ain't my war," replied Vilkos, turning back to wait on paying customers. "Ain't yers neither," he finished over his shoulder._

_ In a movement more swift than a hawk snatching a mouse from a field, Vilkos lay spread-eagled on top of his own bar, the warrior woman's hand at his throat. The rest of the patrons glanced from their conversations, arm wrestlings and cards to watch the exchange with drunken interest._

"_Bite your tongue, coward!" she hissed, "I am a Grecian, as are you."_

"_Aye," the barkeep gasped, fear now evident in his expression._

"_So why do you serve ale to Persian scum?"_

"_G-go…" he choked, "to Hades."_

_At that, Xena slid her service dagger across the man's throat. He jerked a little, an arterial spray arcing up in the air like red ribbons and dotting the warlord's beautiful features._

_ Another brutish man standing at the bar turned to Xena; he too had Vilkos' blood dripping from his whiskers. _

_ "You put blood in my ale," he growled, his accent thick. Xena appraised the man, taking in his low-hung features, the darker tone of his skin: Persian. _

_ As the man grabbed at the hilt of his scimitar, Xena had the blade of her knife at his throat. _

_ "You wish to fight?" the man challenged, a devilish grin on his face. _

_ Xena merely stared at him, her eyes nearly transparent as they looked down the length of her knife. Getting no answer, the Persian warrior knocked a beefy hand against his comrade's chest and spoke loudly to him in a jest of confidence, "Now I know why these Greeks lose war: they let their whores fight instead of men––" But he did not get a chance to enjoy his joke, for Xena struck him quickly, putting the full force of her boot to his face. At the noise of his heavy body thunking on the stone floor, it was a queue for men to lunge at each other in corners. A massive, tavern-wide brawl ensued: glass mugs were broken over heads and men chucked bodily over tables and shards of wood flying from broken chairs rain down from the rafters. Swords and knives were drawn and blood spilled over the filthy barroom floor. Xena herself thrived in the chaos, taking each man with crude rage and feeling pleasure at the audible cracks of bones and the dumb expressions that suddenly struck their faces proceeding her fists. This was fun. _

_In merely a candlemark's time, the warrior woman stumbled through the thatched threshold of the tavern, only two of her four men at her side. All three were badly bruised and sported lacerations criss-crosssing down the fore of their arms. One of Xena's eyes swelled an angry red and had already begun to turn a faint purple at the edges; her hair lay sodden with blood, reeking of metal and piss and ale. _

_ "Xena," Rasmus groaned, doubling over to regain his breath, "you must learn to still your tongue... and your sword arm." _

_ Xena merely smiled, the expression making her features betray their youth; and it seemed odd on such a bloodied face. She swung her arms around both Cyr and Rasmus' shoulder, pulling them roughly against her. She liked these two, as they were close in age and equally as keen to fuck-all and kill almost as much as they drank ale; and, most importantly, they obeyed her and were loyal. Rasmus was, in fact, a Persian expatriate, whom she found lingering in the gutter slums of Corinth; he had come in handy as of late, bartering in his foreign tongue to those of his kin they met along the road. And Cyr was just crazy. _

_ "Boys..." she drawled, " a fight is a fight is a fight is a fight!" And they continued on down the cobbled alley, drunk as Dionysian priests, howling with laughter. After a few yards however, Rasmus broke away. _

_ "Gotta piss," he said. Cyr punched his shoulder and grunted his agreement. _

_ "If pissing means fucking!" Xena called after them, as the two lean warriors stumbled into the darker parts of the shadowed alley. _

_ Feeling alcohol swim like a team of fish through her veins, Xena tried to remember the winding route that took her to the edge of town. near the docks where the rest of her army had found lodgings in the ramshackle port dwellings of merchants and thieves. Her thoughts resumed purchase on her failed campaign; she spat onto the street. She had with her nearly thirty men––well, twenty-eight after tonight's activities––and supplies were wearing thin. Her coin purse was much too light and she knew the store of gold she kept hidden in the stitching of her saddle blankets did not offer much more. It wouldn't be long until her soldiers began to desert in searching of work that actually paid. "Damn," Xena muttered, kicking a loose stone. She watched as the stone ricocheted of one wall and hop-skipped over the uneven cobbles and came to rest at the toe of a large black boot. Xena looked upward at the hem of a cloak, to the waist where the material parted to reveal the skull-engraved silver hilt of a sword, then to the broad chest and shoulders and finally to the hooded face. In the shadow, Xena could not make out the stranger's features. The man stood, however, right in the Warrior Princess' path. She felt her blood roil, her neck grow hot in anger; she was too tired and too drunk for another fight. _

_ "Outta my way," said Xena, sweeping a strong arm to shove the man aside. He did not budge, however. Instead, he held up a broad hand and rested it briefly on her chest. _

_ "Bored, Xena?" he asked, in a voice deep and smooth and mocking. _

_ "What?" she seethed, a little surprised at his audacity and his calling her by name. _

_ "You've wasted your efforts here. Pillaging will give you no glory," he said. _

_ "Don't I know it," Xena growled, trying once more to manhandle the stranger out of her way. _

_ "You need to refocus."_

_ Xena's eyes flashed; she was in no mood for a pep-talk, let alone one from this arrogant cloaked prick. Advancing, she poked the stranger hard on his chest._

_ "Feelin' bold?" she whispered, close to his ear, "It's good a night as any to die." _

_ The man merely chuckled and closed his larger hand over Xena's at his chest. For some reason, she felt a surge run through her, but the moment it passed, she found her legs kicked out from underneath her and her back hitting hard against the ground. Too drunk to care if this stranger killed her, Xena merely lay there in the dust and stared up. Behind his cloaked head, she saw the bright stars in the navy sky, like sparks knocking off a blacksmith's hammer. When the sparks rained down, Xena turned and vomited into the gutter. _

_ "Very flattering," said the stranger, in an amused voice, stooping down to smooth Xena's mane of ebony hair back from her face. _

_ "If you're gonna kill me, do it quick," panted Xena._

_ The stranger ran his fingers through her hair and tucked the tresses on the opposite side of her shoulder. "I suggest you sober up, warrior, and take a look at your surroundings," he whispered. Xena looked up and could swear that she saw a pair of deep brown eyes beneath the hood. When she turned again to her knees, she felt the ale waving through her stomach. She retched again. _

_ "Ugh," groaned Xena, "what in Tartarus––" but when she looked around, the stranger had vanished. She clutched her head and blamed the vision on her poisoned state. However, when she hauled herself up to stand once more, her eyes fell upon a large page of parchment tacked to the wall. She squinted her eyes and read: _

_ REWARD FOR THE CAPTURE OF _

_QUEEN ARTEMISIA OF CARIA _

_1000 DINARI _

_ "Artemisia," Xena tried the name out, liking the way it felt of her tongue. "Yeah," she hissed, caressing the word. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, Xena ripped the poster from the wall and continued toward the docks. _

–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

"It was Ares," said Gabrielle, who had by then moved to the floor with her blanket to sit near the fire. Xena's fog broke as she heard her friend's voice, and only then did she realise she had been pacing. "The cloaked stranger..." prompted Gabrielle.

"Yes," breathed Xena, choosing to rest her tired body and sit down next to the bard, her back propped against the palette. "Yes, it was Ares. I didn't know it then, but he appeared to me many times in many forms. Although he never revealed himself until..."

"Until...?"

"Well, not until you, actually."

"Me?"

"When those townspeople thought I killed their kin in the fields and had me in prison. And you were acting as my advocate..." Xena smiled at the memory of the ruddy-cheeked bard in her peasant skirts.

"Huh," Gabrielle seemed to consider this. Xena watch her friend mull over a few silent thoughts as she gazed into the fire. From the window drifted in the scents of failing autumn flowers, the alliums and the ozawa and city smells of roasting nuts and cut flowers and wet-wool bundles of burning incense and that special scent of crowded human squalor. She could hear the sounds of the soldier's boots and gruff voices calling ranks to organise the city's legion. They would have to retrieve the reserves, decided Xena. She knew she should be down there with Ocnus Nilos, the Lieutenant General of the Athenian Army–– but even the Warrior Princess had to sleep some time. She drifted into the memory of her youth, when she could last for days at a full ride, from battle to battle, existing on nothing but the fuel of her rage. She looked at Gabrielle again.

Gods, what the woman must think of her: killing a barkeep for requesting coin, passing out in an alley and deciding on a drunken whim to go after some innocent strange woman. She shivered to think of what she had yet to tell Gabrielle. The thought made her heart go cold, despite the fire. She clenched her teeth.

And yet then, as if reading her thoughts, Gabrielle shifted closer and rested her blonde head on the warrior's shoulder. The action elicited a weary sigh from Xena.

"What is it?" asked Gabrielle, softly, her eyes never leaving the fire.

"How can you stand me?" Xena surprised herself by speaking her thoughts aloud. At the admittance, Gabrielle lifted her head and looked up at her companion. She saw something like a ghost passing before her friend's eyes.

"What do you mean?" she asked, making sure to keep a hand on Xena's arm, sure to maintain their connection.

"Every time I tell you of my past, I feel this great wave of shame wash over me. I will never be worthy of your friendship." There were no tears in her eyes, just the cold resonance of stated fact, an acknowledgment of reality.

"Nobody earns love, Xena. It's freely given. And besides, who can know love without hate," she smoothed her thumb over the warrior's skin and felt goosebumps rise in its wake. "And I love you, Xena. Every time we deal with the consequences of your past actions, it only makes me love you more. It only increases my awe of you."

"That doesn't make any sense," replied Xena, her voice hoarse with emotion and fatigue.

"Sure it does," said Gabrielle, with conviction, "because it reminds me how much strength you have to confront your demons, to want to correct your mistakes."

"I couldn't do it without you. There's no way. You are the strength of me, Gabrielle," said Xena, turning more fully to face her partner.

"If that's true, then whatever it is that you have done to this Artemisia and her people can be forgiven. And whatever this war brings, we'll face it together. We'll make this right, together."


	4. III

III.

When Xena awoke the next morning, she felt an old chaos overwhelm her. It was odd, and in some way familiar, this internal pendulum swinging to and fro: she found that the bloodshed and hunger of times past were only tidal revolutions, where she landed on one side or the other of what Lao Ma had called the _Te_. Behind her closed eyes, as if behind a curtain, she saw the thin, pale fingers of her mentor wrapped around a brush pen as she painted long, slow strokes of black ink spiders over a sheaf of bamboo-bound papyrus.

_This is the _Te_, and it is called mysterious. It is your dark virtue. _

Xena opened her eyes and she felt the odd feeling escape into the tranquility of first morning light and of Gabrielle breathing softly nearby.

The rest of the day passed in a tumult of activity: Xena met with Ocnus Nilos and confirmed with him a contingent group to be led out promptly at dusk, while Gabrielle limped over to the rooms of the medicus in Potter's Quarter to see if she might help them prepare. Ocnus Nilos led Xena among the drilling ranks, calling attention to each agency of soldier. The Lt. General was an uncompromising, red-skinned sort of man, standing just at Xena's eye-level, and imparted long-winded soliloquies of his immortal importance. She could tell the man felt threatened by her - he would, of course, lust after the glory of leading an Athenian defense.

When the sun sat at its peak in the sky, a spotty healer's assistant found Xena with a message from Gabrielle: To meet her in the Agora. Puzzling over this news, Xena excused herself and turned from the drilling fields. She walked with purpose along the merchant-lined length of the _Piraean. _Women called out to her their wares, of clay jugs and olive oil, while children raced amongst the bumbling carts and horse hooves. When she reached Potter's Quarter, she paused by a watering trough and looked around.

"Xena!" a familiar voice called.

The warrior glanced to a nearby terrace and found Gabrielle perched on a barrel, two stuffed pitas sitting in her lap. She extended one pita to her friend in greeting.

"You called me all the way up here to give me a sandwich?" said Xena, smiling despite herself.

"Yes," replied Gabrielle, taking a bite of her own. Xena glanced to the bard's fingers and found them tinged a vibrant green; the warrior quirked an eyebrow. "I've been crushing herbs and boiling them into salve," Gabrielle explained, "and I have information for you, if you'll humor me, oh busy one."

Xena ripped a piece of her pita and stuck it in her mouth, sliding one thigh onto the barrel beside the bard. "Alright," she said, "go ahead."

"I was talking to Lestros, the medicus here, and he said that a few travelers brought to him four men they found injured beyond the pass. Well, I tended to them Xena, and I know a Persian when I see one. Maybe they know where the rest of the army is camped," she ventured, reaching out to wipe a bit of hummus from the corner of Xena's mouth.

The warrior's smile turned dark against the bard's fingers. "Good work, Gabrielle. I'd like to speak with them."

The bard put a warning hand on her friend's arm, "Don't hurt them, please. They're badly injured."

"I won't," she said, distractedly.

Gabrielle nodded, and seemed to become sheepish all of a sudden.

"What is it?" asked Xena, bending to try to capture the bard's eyes.

Gabrielle looked up, "Well, I was wondering if you would tell me more of Artemisia."

"Ah, so the truth comes out," mumbled Xena.

"It's such mystery to me. You're such a mystery to me," Gabrielle confided, "even after all these years."

Xena pretended to consider this, but really, she was attempting to conceal the queer déjà vu she felt echoing back to her from this morning. "Fine, walk with me to your wounded Persians, and I'll tell you."

_"You're what?!" Cyr roared, slamming a fist against a shipping crate nearest the warlord. _

_ "I'm going after her," said Xena, glancing at Rasmus who leaned against another crate, studying the reward poster she had found the previous night. _

_ "We should push on," said Cyr, his face twisted in mocking disdain, "in favor of better lands." _

_ "There _are_ no better lands! If you haven't noticed, all of Greece is at war," spit Xena, snatching the poster from Rasmus' hands. _

_ "Of all kopros, Xena. You want to go after a Persian Queen?" said Cyr. _

_ "Not just any Queen… a Queen with a thousand Dinari bounty on her head."_

_ "And how do you expect to even sail Persian waters? Last I checked, you were Greek."_

_ "Easy," Xena answered, "Rasmus is Persian. I will charade as his slave, until we come across Artemisia's ship, and he will trade me," answered Xena, crossing her arms over her chest. _

_ "And Rasmus, you agree?" asked Cyr. Rasmus opened his mouth, but Xena interrupted. _

_ "He doesn't need to, it's not a request. And you would do well to remember your place, Cyr: beneath my boot," Xena said with a sneer. Cyr did not think before back-handing the young warlord across her already bruised face. Turning back from the brunt of the blow, Xena's tongue darted out and licked the blood forming from the re-opened split in her lip. Her eyes flashed a dangerously deep blue and Cyr took a cautionary step back, surprised even at his own audacity. _

_ "You think that was wise?" said Xena, in a low menacing growl. She stepped forward and grabbed the front of Cyr's leather vest, dragging him to within a breath of her face. "One good reason why I shouldn't kill you," she whispered. _

_ "I…" stalled Cyr, glancing hopelessly to Rasmus for assistance, but receiving only an apathetic shrug, "you have an army, Xena. I merely beg you do not give up what we have worked so hard to attain." _

_ Xena smiled a vicious smile, "We?". Yet instead of breaking the zealous young rebel's neck, she leaned forward and pressed her lips against his in a savage kiss. "You're right," she said, releasing her hold on him. She wanted to laugh at the half-aroused, half-mortified expression on his face; Cyr reached up and touched the blood left from Xena's lips on his own. He gave her a questioning look. _

_ "This is why I am leaving my men in your command. All I need is a fortnight, to dock with Artemisia's ship and take her once we get on land." _

_ "She is Xerxes favoured," Rasmus spoke up, "it will be difficult to get close to her." _

_ Xena turned to him and gave him a confident smirk, "I have many skills." _

_ Cyr and Rasmus guffawed at that, more so in agreement than in mockery. But Xena became serious once more. "Take the men and travel on foot to Illum and cross the straight at Hellesport. I will meet you there, either with the Queen's head or with a bag of gold in hand." _

_And so it was settled, Rasmus and Xena would set out on the ship leaving noonday and make for the eastern Persian docks of the Marmora to try to intercept Artemisia's fleet in those waters. _

_ Aboard the merchant ship, Rasmus stood on the decks, adorned in the dreory silk robes Xena had purchased to make their story more credible. He entertained two Persian sailors with stories of the slave-trade, making up a believable tale of inheriting his father's business. At his feet, Xena knelt, clothed in the rags of a slave woman, a leather collar fastened about her neck. Subtly, she kicked Rasmus in the back of his leg, trying to urge him further in their plan to extract information from these sailors. _

_ Rasmus cleared his throat and spoke in Farsi, "I have heard tell of Xerxes' plans to contest the Greek navy in Salamis."_

_ One of the sailors grunted, "Aye, his confidence has grown legs." _

_ "You disagree?" asked Rasmus. Xena tried to interpret some cognates in their conversation, but she found herself lost in translation. _

_ "I will not speak ill of our fearless king," said the sailor, "but he holds conference in Byzantium on the matter. All his advisors will be there. " _

_ Rasmus decided to play a card, "I hear Xerxes takes the council of a woman."_

_ The sailor laughed, "Aye, he takes council between her legs!"_

_ "Hold your cock," said the other sailor, "it is Queen Artemisia you speak of. I have served under her command once before, a very savvy woman. And very beautiful." _

_ Xena shifted on her heel and looked up at the sailor who displayed some dignity; she could tell by the look in his eyes that he respected this Artemisia, even if she could not understand his reprimand. _

_ "She rules Caria, no?" asked Rasmus. _

_ "She does," answered the sailor, "after the death of her husband." _

_ "How I would like to lay eyes upon a woman naval commander. It is a rare gem," replied Rasmus, "will she be at this council meeting in Byzantium?" _

_ "I believe she will," said the sailor. Rasmus thanked them and pulled on Xena's collar to lead her away. Once out of earshot, near the bow of the ship, Rasmus related all the information to his warlord. _

_ "Looks like we're going to Byzantium," said Xena, smiling devilishly. She turned from her 'master' and leaned against the port-side, looking out at the calm turquoise sea. On either horizon, she saw the hills of Greece disappearing in the dusk. A night's trip would have them beyond enemy lines, in the lands of the Persians. They would have to act carefully, she thought. The image of the cloaked stranger came to her then, and whether or not it was a figment of her drunkenness, she felt a renewed sense of purpose. With the money from Artemisia's capture, she would be able to purchase weapons and stores for her growing army and induce more men to join her. And with a stronger army, she would be able to move east over the Ottoman lands and conquer as she pleased. Fire raised behind her blue eyes, and she saw all the cities of the world burning and she, standing above them, with a torch in hand. _

"And so we sailed to ports of Byzantium," said Xena, as she and Gabrielle made their way through the annals of hospice pallets that lay in wait for the coming battle.

"It seems too easy," replied the bard, pausing outside the threshold of the smaller room where they kept the wounded Persian soldiers.

"Yes, it did to me as well," said Xena, "but, it turned out to be much more complex than I anticipated."

"Of course it did," Gabrielle rolled her eyes, "I hope you'll tell me more tonight." At Xena's nod, she led them beyond the curtain and greeted Lestros, who was busy changing bandages of the men there. "This is my friend. She needs to ask these men some questions," she explained.

Lestros gazed up at Xena, taking in her warrior's garb and the sword at her back. "Oh, no! She can't talk to them now, they need rest—".

Xena brushed him aside and stooped down to the nearest man he was tending. The soldier's eyes were closed, but flew open when the warrior took his shoulders and shook him awake.

"Saloum," greeted Xena, her voice low.

When the soldier's eyes found the Warrior Princess' face in focus, they widened in terror.

"Relax," continued Xena in his language, "I will not harm you… if you give me what I want. What is your name?"

The soldier began to struggle, but his arm appeared to be broken. And suddenly, it dawned on Xena that she recognized this man. She had fought him in the armory and she had given him that broken arm.

"What is your name?" Xena repeated, laying two capable hands on the man's shoulders to still him.

Seeing no way out of his predicament, the soldier replied, "Ihsan".

"Well, Ihsan," replied Xena, still in his mother tongue, "it looks like you are a prisoner of war." Ihsan struggled again, but Xena pressed a little heavier on his fractured forearm, and he screamed.

"Xena," Gabrielle hissed, "You promised…"

But Xena ignored her, and instead kept the intensity of her gaze on the soldier "Oh, yes," she continued, "I know all about Tetram's little surprise. And what a coward he is with his guerilla tactics and no declarations of war." The soldier's tanned face turned dark with a flush of anger. "So, I'll tell you what- I won't break your other arm if you tell me where your main territorials are camped."

Ihsan responded with a mean sneer; he hocked his throat and spit at the Warrior Princess. Gabrielle winced at the action, handing her friend a clean piece of cloth to wipe the spittle from her cheek. Xena took the rag and cleaned herself. Then, in a blur of motion, she jabbed two fingers to Ihsan's neck. The soldier gasped and writhed, looking wildly at the three gathered around him.

"What have you done!" cried Lestros. Gabrielle turned away.

"I've cut off the flow of blood to his brain," replied Xena, easily, "he's got twenty seconds until it implodes." She said this is Greek, choosing to believe Ishan understood his own peril. She glanced back to the dying man, watching as a thin trickle of blood made its way down from one nostril. Ishan began to nod, making mad gestures that he was willing to talk. Xena released the pressure point with a quick jab.

Ishan gasped, wincing at the pain that rushed to his temples, "Salamis, across the channel."

Xena smiled, "That wasn't so hard." She stood and turned back to Lestros, who looked aghast at the whole situation. "See to it that these men make a full recovery. I've got plans for them," she said. The warrior looked to Gabrielle, her eyes betraying the beginnings of embarrassment; she then strode from the room.

Gabrielle caught up with Xena outside the hospice, barely keeping pace with the warrior's long strides. "That was ugly," she said.

"It was unavoidable," replied Xena.

"You said you wouldn't-"

"He was resisting, Gabrielle!"

Gabrielle stopped their hurried march, a hand clasping her friend's arm firmly. "I'm tired of this old argument, Xena. Either you choose what is decent, or you do not." With that, the bard walked away, back toward the hospice.

Xena stood in the merchant square, watching Gabrielle's retreating back and then as she disappeared into the crowd. She set her jaw, feeling her heart begin to ache in her chest.

The past shall always repeat itself.


	5. IV

**IV.**

At a lavish table in the Athenian castle, spread out with the royal fixings of a feast-pomegranates, tapas, smoked ostrich and a curious paté from the organs of jellyfish-sat the inner counsel men of the King, Leonidas himself, Ocnus Nilos, the Warrior Princess and next to her, the bard. War-talk flowed like wine, at once intoxicating and feverish, leaving a bitter taste on the tongue. Xena and Gabrielle spoke plenty to the others, while avoiding each other entirely, their argument from the afternoon still a fresh wound.

When a platter of baklava made its way around the table, Xena took one of the flaky pastries and passed the tray on to the bard, their fingers brushing in the exchange. The sharpness of blue eyes lost its edge as they met green, then softened into a wordless apology. Gabrielle turned away abruptly to pass the baklava on, pained by that look in Xena's eyes. She felt a tentative touch under the table on her thigh, and looked down to see Xena's fingers smoothing the wrinkles of her skirt; she felt the warrior's wine-scented breath near her ear.

"I'm sorry," Xena whispered, so only Gabrielle could hear.

The bard shivered involuntarily, mentally berating herself for her inability to stay angry at Xena, even when it was justified. There had been times when Gabrielle was alone-when she lay in the darkness of a wood or in some town where Xena had abandoned her-when she ruminated on the distinct blind affection she had for the warrior. All her life, Gabrielle had prided herself on her sense of justice, her belief in goodness and her tireless effort to do good. With Xena, she could easily be coaxed into the altruism of heroics- but, really, when she thought about it, she would forgive the warrior anything, would love her enduringly. She was not sure if that made her a wise lover, or a misguided lovesick fool. And yet, at those soft words whispered under the dim torchlight of the Athenian monarchy, Gabrielle surrendered her weakness, thinking that perhaps she might be both wise and foolish.

Dinner ended with plans to reconvene before dawn the next day; they believed the first Persian offence would be within the early hours of the morn. Once outside the hall, Xena gave Gabrielle pause by the foot of the stairwell that led to their quarters.

"I'll be gone for a while," said Xena.

"Where are you going?"

"With the contingency."

"To Salamis?" asked Gabrielle.

"Yes."

"I'm coming."

"_Gabrielle_," Xena ground out, "you're injured."

"I'll make the decisions for myself, thank you."

"I'm the bloody Commanding Officer," argued Xena.

Gabrielle merely gave her a look.

"We have to take a boat. Salamis is an island," said Xena, knowing that this would deter the bard. But Gabrielle was still a little angry, and very determined and when the two combined, they made for a very volatile reaction. Sensing that this might be the case, the warrior shook her head. "All right, let's go".

On the three-oar _trieme_, Xena stood leaning on the mainmast, watching her contingent group of ten sailors work to get them out of the harbour. Gabrielle sat on deck, her back against the mast, one hand bracing herself against the halliard rope; she had already begun to feel a little seasick. Xena cast her friend a sympathetic look, wondering perhaps for the thousandth time why she had let the bard persuade her into coming along. Presently, however, Xena had other things to consider.

Climbing the mast-ladder up a few rungs, the warrior closed her eyes for a moment, letting her keen senses judge the direction of the wind. "Come about!" she called to her men, "Let's bear away, turn steerboard into weather-side!".

From her position on the deck, Gabrielle looked up at Xena perched on the ropes, peering out into the darkness of the sea as if she saw something others did not. Beyond the mainsail, stars bloomed in the night sky, illumining their southwestern course. It would be a short sail, half a candlemark at most in the strong wind that propelled them. Xena hopped down from the mast and landed next to Gabrielle, stooping down to her haunches.

"How're you doing?" asked the warrior.

"I swear, Xena, if you ask me that question one more time…" threatened Gabrielle.

Xena stood once again. "Sorry," she muttered.

Gabrielle looked up and a sense of regret came over her; she reached up and tugged on an errant leather strap from Xena's battledress. "I'm sorry, Xe. Just feeling ill."

Once again, Xena lowered herself to her friend's level. "It's all right. I know." She grabbed Gabrielle's wrist into her hand and with the other, pressed two fingers to the pressure point there to quell the bard's nausea. She felt Gabrielle relax a little at the sensation, and felt her own anxiety lessen as well. Passing a hand over Gabrielle's cheek, Xena tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. "Are we okay?" she asked.

Gabrielle looked up at that, surprised; she gazed into Xena's eyes and wondered at the echo of the night sky and the sea. "Of course we are," she replied, feeling an ache expressly in her chest.

Xena smiled, sitting down on an overturned bucket. "Figured I'd continue the saga, if you want. We've got some time to kill."

"It would take my mind off my stomach," agreed Gabrielle.

Nodding, Xena pursed her lips and struggled to remember where she had left off in her tale.

* * *

_The hills of the Byzantium port glittered with the lantern-lights of sandstone huts, looking like primordial fireflies in the strange light of dawn. Rasmus lay propped in the bow-point of the smaller frigate they had hopped earlier, snoring away in the hazy summer heat. Xena, on the other hand, stood with her hands planted on the weather-pocked railing of the boat, unable to sleep. Seeing the port grow larger before her eyes, Xena kneed Rasmus awake. _

_"Get up, Ras," said Xena, her voice hushed, "we're here." _

_As Xena and Rasmus made their way through the city streets, they noticed with a little suspicion how vacant those streets seemed. No vendors were setting up their caravans in the market square; no drunken men lounged in alley corners with their cloaks pulled over their eyes; only a stray cat or two passed them by. Finally, Rasmus stepped inside a blacksmith's shop when he saw the glow of a forge through the window. _

_Xena stood outside, shuffling her feet with restless energy; beneath her own peasant's cloak, she fingered the hilt of her sword at her hip. After another moment, Rasmus exited the shop. _

_"Everyone is at the palace gates," he reported, "to catch glimpse of Xerxes". _

_"Perfect," is all Xena replied. _

_And so, through Byzantium they stole, keeping close to the latticework shadows thrown from the sun which continued to climb higher in the sky. The closer they drew to the palace, the more people they saw gathered in the narrow streets. At the gates, the townspeople stood clamouring for the best vantage to see the Shah greet his advisors with their multitudes of camel caravans, and gilded litters carried by strapping dark-skinned men in velvet robes and strange fur karakul hats made from the stuff of foetus lambs. Xena squinted through the crowds and tried to spot a woman being escorted from her litter to the decadent waiting attendants—but she could see nothing. _

_"Come on," she gestured, and Rasmus followed her through an alley. The alley wound along the back of the palace, formed largely from a massive wall that blocked the squalid conditions of the slums from the garden vistas of the palace. At one point, Xena paused by a barrel and gave Rasmus a telling look—like a child about to break her mother's rule. In two fluid leaps, Xena made it over the wall, dropping down into the branch of a waiting lime tree and then down into the gardens. She waited a moment until Rasmus made it over the wall as well, however more clumsily. _

_Following Xena's lithe movements, Rasmus stole through the decorative sandstone archways painted with brown mandala designs and squared, red poppy blooms. When they rounded a bend, they came upon a man and woman, sneaking kisses in the shadowed corner. Xena put a hand on Rasmus' chest to stop him; she put one long index finger to her own lips in a gesture of silence. _

_"For a thousand moons, dearest Aara," said the man in Persian tongue, "would I wait for you." _

_The woman fell into his embrace. "And a thousand wives would I kill," she answered, pressing her painted lips to his. _

_Xena threw a vulgar look at her compatriot, raising her eyebrows in a suggestive manner. But before Rasmus could identify her motive, Xena made herself visible to the trysting lovers. _

_"Shaloum. Your name, _Agha_?" asked Xena, in her rudimentary Farsi. The man broke away from his embrace and the woman looked startlingly around at the intruder. _

_"What is the meaning of this?" demanded the man, for to him, Xena looked only like a foreign peasant who had somehow found her way over the wall. _

_Not understanding, nor caring to understand, Xena asked again: "Your name?"_

_"Prince Kara-Indash of Elam," said the man, with a terrible pompous affectation. _

_A feral smile found its way onto Xena's face as she advanced on the two; in a smooth motion, she ran the Prince through with her sword. And before Aara could scream, Rasmus' dirk found its way across her neck. _

_Turning to the Persian warrior, Xena laughed cruelly. "Ever fancy us lovers, Prince Kara-Indash?" she asked to Rasmus, who now would assume the prince's identity. _

_"I did dream," replied Rasmus, cleaning his blade on the fallen woman's skirts. _

_"Let's get rid of the bodies," said Xena, "and quick. We've got a banquet to attend." _

_As it turned out, Prince Kara-Indash's quarters were lavish and plenty satisfying to Xena and Rasmus' needs. There, Rasmus found clothing for both himself and for Xena. The woman, Aara, seemed to be an attendant to the Prince as well as his mistress and so her things were as neatly preserved in the palace quarters. At dusk, a knock sounded upon their chamber door. _

_Rasmus strode to the door, but before opening it, turned back to Xena: "What shall I do if the guard recognizes the difference?" _

_"Kill him," answered the Warrior Princess, simply. _

_Rasmus nodded, then moved to open the door. "What is it?" he rasped. _

_"Dinner, your excellence," replied in the guard, already sunk into a deep bow. Lucky for custom, the guardsman's etiquette disallowed eye contact with royalty. With an even deeper bow, he stood to the side to allow the two to pass through the threshold. He then led whom he believed to be Prince Kara-Indash and his attendant through a maze of corridors, all as intricately painted and engraved as the next, until they found themselves at the Great Hall. _

_What seemed to be hundreds of exquisitely dressed Persian diplomats with their consorts and wives and servants milled about the hall, conversing with one another in great streams of flowery greetings. This did not look like a nation at war, nor a conference of warmakers. _

_At Rasmus' side, Xena watched as he bowed to many men and attempted to speak as little as possible to any of them. The warlord kept her eyes peeled for women that may be Artemisia, but so far, each woman was covered from head to toe in vibrant jeweled shrouds, their eyes demurred and dark. It was no wonder why she received so many startled and strange glances; her face sat uncovered, and her eyes such a contrasting blue. _

_"Why didn't you tell me about the dress code?" Xena seethed, whispering into Rasmus' ear. _

_"I have not been to Persia since I was a child; the custom has changed," replied Rasmus, not caring to lower his voice. _

_"What strange words you utter to your servant," sounded a very deep, yet entirely feminine Persian voice. Rasmus turned at this and greeted the woman with a bow. _

_"I do beg your pardon, _Isha_," replied Rasmus, politely, "I purchased her for mere bags of sand in the Greek isle of Lesbos." _

_The woman rested her attention on Xena and studied her features in the brightly torch-lit and cacophonous hall; and Xena in turn met eyes so dark beneath their shroud, it seemed a Ch'inese scribe could dip the nib of quill and ink eternal lengths of histories. "And where is your cover?" asked the woman. It took only a moment for Xena to realize that the woman had spoken in perfect Greek. _

_"It's… it's ah…" she was at a loss for words. _

_"No matter," the woman continued in a voice like a breeze, "for a face as beautiful as yours should not be hidden." _

_"Gratitude, _Isha," _answered Xena, for once not at all perturbed at having to exercise courtesy. _

_"May I introduce my servant, Aada," interrupted Rasmus, "and myself: Prince Kara-Indash of Elam." Rasmus sunk into another bow. _

_An odd look passed quickly over the woman's brow, and for a moment Xena believed them to be found out. "Have you trimmed your beard, my Prince?" she asked, instead. _

_Rasmus chuckled nervously, "You do not like it?"_

_"No, it suits you," she answered, smiling humbly. _

_Yet, just as Rasmus was about to ask the woman her name, a bell sounded in the hall, calling those gathered to attention. Everyone's conversations came to an abrupt halt as they turned to the head of the hall. A man of high rank stepped onto a platform, and announced in a rough, loud voice: "Tremble before the Imperial Ruler of the Empire, He who seeks to increase his benevolent sovereignty and put down the Greek Dogs! Make way for Xerxes, High Shah of Persia!"_

_Instead of cheering, the hall remained silent and all but Xena bent at the waist and averted their eyes. Horrified, Rasmus yanked Xena down alongside him; it was an easy death for treason in these parts of the world. Entering from an anti-chamber at the head of the room, Xerxes himself strode onto the platform and raised his hands above his head. _

_"Thank you Mardonius," said the Shah to his advisor, "Shaloum! Welcome to all my trusted friends and fellow leaders of this Great Empire!"_

_Xena did not listen to Xerxes' address, but chose instead to look back to where they had abandoned the conversation with that woman who knew her language. But when she looked, the woman was gone, disappeared into the crowds. Xena subtly shook her head, feeling like an incantation had been cast on her by a very gentle, very silent witch. _

_Candlemarks went by, full of lavish eating and barbaric conversation; large carafes of port and wine were toted by muscled servant men whose sole occupation it was to make sure no guest's goblet sat empty for the barest of moments. During dessert, entertainment in the form of dancers filed into the hall: Akhlakandu and Bendir drums began a steady, deep beat and a tar strummed in rhythm; finally the piercing, haunted sound of the Santoor filled the hall and Xena found the noise more intoxicating than the wine. Drunkenly, she scanned the faces of those sitting cross-legged or lounging at the various tables, trying once more to locate the woman from earlier. And there, beyond the gauze of a dancer's ethereal skirt, sat the woman with the dark eyes which seemed never to have left Xena's at all. _

_And yet, instead of glancing away, Xena held that dark stare level with one equally as intense of her own. As the exotic music wafted through the room, and the sweet-smelling opium smoke from ornate glass hookahs billowed and changed the dancers into specters, Xena studied this strange woman. _

_And then the spell was broken. The Shah stood from his silk cushion and once more raised his palms in the air. The music quelled, the conversation died. _

_"A thousand apologies for interrupting such festivities," said Xerxes, in a voice that did not sound sorry at all, "but we must remember that we are in trying times. Our war with Greece is coming close to a victorious end-"_

_Xena smirked at this, when Rasmus translated roughly in her ear. _

_"-but we must engage the Greek navy in attempt to secure this victory," Xerxes continued, "We contested at Thermoplyae and won! Our next move is to contest in the waters at Salamis. Now, I must acknowledge that the Greek fleets are famed and our resources are drawling thin. To emerge victorious will require great strength and courage. And, as it is not in my design to use my people and resources without the consent of their nation-state leaders, I ask the opinion of my fellow advisors. This is why I ask you now, your thoughts on the matter. Shall we contest the Greek navy and thus secure half the known world and rule it under the Great Persian Empire? Or shall we conserve our energies and risk prolonging this war another fifty seasons? I open up the floor to discussion." At that Xerxes re-seated himself on his cushion and sat poised to listen. _

_"This is a jest," whispered Rasmus to Xena, "He does not want proper council. He wants his conscience eased and his cock stroked." _

_Xena nearly choked on her fourth cup of wine with laughter. _

_The king of Sidon was first to stand and address the Shah, "I say, for the glory of the Empire, crush the Athenian fleet!" He raised his goblet and drank in Xerxes' honour, dribbling the wine down his chin into his whiskers. The king of Tyre stood and said of variation of his countryman's sentiments; the rest of the empire's advisors stood and offered opinions of much the same sort. Rasmus shook his head, laughing along with Xena at this sham of a council meeting. _

_And then finally, a different tone reached the ears of those gathered; not a baritone of pride, but an alto of levity: "__Tell the king from me, Mardonius, as I am a woman and cannot allow myself the honour of address, that this is his reply from one who showed herself neither the most cowardly nor the weakest in the naval encounters at Euboea:" _

_Indeed, Xena was shocked to see that it was the black-eyed woman who stood and spoke above the din. This then, must be the elusive and infamous Queen Artemisia of Caria, for no woman outside of her rank would dare do as she did. For some reason, Xena felt like this should not have surprised her. _

_"Master, it is right for me to tell you my opinion, as I am considering what is to your best advantage," continued Artemisia, "This is my advice to you: spare your ships and do not fight a battle at sea. For their men are as superior to yours at sea as men are to women. Why need you run the risk of naval actions at all? Do you not hold Athens, the particular objective of your campaign, and do you not control the rest of Greece? No one stands in your way. Those who resisted you have ended as they deserve. I shall explain how I think the enemy will fare. If you do not rush into an engagement at sea, but hold the fleet here waiting on shore, or if you attack the Peloponnese, master, you will attain your objectives without trouble. For the Greeks cannot put up resistance against you for long, but they will scatter their forces and run away, city by city. They have no supplies on this island, according to my information, nor do they consider it their home. If you send your army agains the Peloponnese, it is not likely that any Peloponnesians in the Greek forces will be prepared to stay quiet or fight a naval battle in defense of Athens. If you bring on a naval battle right now, I am afraid that the fleet will be destroyed and involved the army as well in defeat. Reflect on this too, my king. Good men usually have bad slaves and bad men good ones. You, as the best of all men, have bad slaves. None of these Silonians, Tyreans, Cypriotes, Cilicians or Pamphilians-who are called your allies-are of any use." _

_The hall was bathed in silence at the close of Artemisia's plea. _

_Rasmus finished his translation, then reached over to his 'servant' and fingered her jaw closed. Xena sent him a menacing scowl, then returned her attention to Artemisia as she took her seat once more. _

_"Noble Queen," Xerxes addressed, choosing not to stand, "your wise sentiments do not fall on deaf ears and I thank you for your enduring honesty. It would seem, however, that you are vastly outnumbered in the opinion of the opposition. As is my own mind set. In a moon's sequence, we will invade Salamis!" _

* * *

"So rash and such hubris," muttered Gabrielle, lulled by the low rhythm of Xena's voice.

Xena smiled, "Indeed."

"But Artemisia," Gabrielle's eyes brightened, "she sounds amazing, and so wise."

"Yes," Xena's voice barely raised above the sound of the hull cutting through the waves, "yes, she was."

"So then what happened?" asked Gabrielle. But Xena stood quickly to her feet, snapping to attention. She narrowed her eyes in the darkness and looked to the portside at a growing dark shape in the near distance.

"No time," she said, "Get ready, Gabrielle. We're going to infiltrate the Persian camps".


	6. V

V.

Beyond the black shape of a jutting cliff, the _trieme_ bobbed on its anchor off the Salamis coast. Onboard stood Gabrielle, quite by her lonesome, squinting into the darkness at the barest glint of steel in the moonlight. She imagined Xena moving with her ten-man contingent soundlessly through the silvered trees. They had anchored beyond the barrier reef, a league or so down beach-and down wind-from the glowing fires of Persian camps. Gabrielle had swung a leg over the lip of the ship's railing, ready to lower herself down into the waiting dingy, when Xena seized her arm and pulled her back up.

"Oh no," she said, setting the bard firmly on deck, "I let you come this far against my better judgment."

Surprisingly, Gabrielle had only managed a defiant look, and then the fight went out of her- Xena was right. Her body couldn't take being awake much longer, let alone trying to keep up with seasoned soldiers. Defeated, Gabrielle walked up the few wide steps to the mast-box and sunk down against it, trying to keep herself sheltered from the wind that had picked up. Her mind however, was deeply entrenched in the sweltering heat of opium smoke and summer and of Xena, lost in the haze of youth and violence. Nearly could she smell the perfume of Persian Queens and the fragrant gardens, run the textured silks through her fingertips and puzzle over the strange caressing sounds of those foreign tongues.

Suddenly, she felt a low thud on the side of the _trieme_; it jarred the deck planks beneath her. Using her staff for support, Gabrielle propped herself up into a standing position. Maybe Xena ran into trouble and had to cut the mission short, she thought. Hobbling over to steerboard, Gabrielle leaned over the side. She glanced down into an empty dingy floating in the black waters which cut against the hull. Gabrielle felt a wave of nausea become that of fear.

She had only the thud of a boot on wood to react. Ducking, the blade of a sword passed mere inches above her head. With a low whirl, Gabrielle managed to swing her staff out and catch the attacker in the shin. Righting herself, she got a better look at whom she was dealing with. The moment she caught the soldier's face, however, those dark Persian eyes took in the bandages on her foot and her shoulder. Knowing her weakness, the warrior parried a blow from her staff and managed to smack the flat of his blade over Gabrielle's arrow wound. With an agonizing scream, Gabrielle dropped to the ground, her staff kicked from her hand soon after. She didn't even see the second warrior mount the side of the ship, and all she knew was blackness thereafter.

"Pull the anchor," said one warrior to the other.

All was silence in the thick, dark jungle. Beside a cypress bent over like an arthritic man, Xena paused and put a hand in the air to signal a halt. Behind her, the Athenian soldiers stopped and crouched low in the underbrush. Through the trees, only a single fire was visible. Odd, thought Xena: From the shore, there looked to be at least a dozen burning deeper inland. Something wasn't right-she felt it like a metallic ache low in her stomach. Standing slowly to her full height, she crooked a finger in Ocnus Nilos' direction; the lieutenant general made his way swiftly to her side.

"General?" he whispered.

"Something's amiss," she breathed, "I don't want to risk leading these men into an ambush. Take them back around the cove, back to the ship. Wait for me there."

Ocnus Nilos looked aghast, "And you?"

"I'm going in," the Warrior Princess replied, her eyes deadlocked on that single fire in the distance.

A frown passed over the lieutenant general's gruff features. "But…" he began.

"Do as I say," said Xena and took off through the trees.

Disturbing nary a leaf on the forest floor, Xena made her way closer to the tent she could see illumined by the fire. She could hear the faint sounds of her men retreating. As she reached the back flap of the command tent, however, a piercing battlecry echoed hauntingly from the trees. Persian warriors seemed to pour out of the shadows and charged in the direction of her retreating contingent.

"Hades!" Xena hissed. She pounced from her cover and slid her sword cleanly through the closest warrior's chest.

In the chaotic moments that followed, Xena battled her way through tens of Persians, feeling like she was repeating the vicious cycle of her sins. How could this have gone so wrong? How did Tetram know they were leading an exploratory mission? The bodies passed before her in a red haze; she fought with fury and something of her old rage threatened to take hold. But something held her fast from blood oblivion: She had to get back to the ship; she had to get back to Gabrielle.

When Xena broke through the vines onto the sand of the beach, what greeted her were cove waters, empty of any ship or living soul. The three men that had made it to the shore all lay crumpled in awkward, splayed positions, blood pooling beneath them onto the sand. Xena hurried to their side to see if she could help them; upon turning over the third man, Ocnus Nilos' blank expression dispersed all her hopes. The Warrior Princess' hand curled into a fist, white knuckles bared: the ship, Gabrielle. She scanned the length of the short beach, hoping that whoever unanchored the _trieme_ hadn't thrown the bard overboard. Seeing nothing, Xena hurried over to a copse of thick overgrowth and trees; she felt around in the darkness and eventually contacted the unyielding shape of the dingy that she and the soldiers had hidden earlier. Feeling reassured by a means of escape, Xena set off back toward the encampment, sure to keep her steps unheard. As Xena ghosted through the trees, her memories seemed as webs caught between the foliage, coating her in tenacious threads that wove pattern about her.

_Xena crept through the Byzantine palace, feeling the blood turned to wine as it moved sluggishly through her veins. She had abandoned Rasmus earlier when she spied Artemesia leave the hall. Following soundlessly, Xena kept a good distance away, always keeping her eyes fixed steadily on the embroidered plum silk that trailed in the wake of the Queen's long strides. _

_When Artemisia reached her quarters, she paused before the antechamber; Xena only had a split second to duck behind a pillar when the Queen turned to look briefly behind her. _

_ "Yazmin," Artemisia called softly. It was only a moment until the servant appeared at the threshold and bowed before her mistress. "Please, I bid you take Ndila and disappear for the evening; I wish to be alone." _

_ "Isha," said Yazmin and promptly scurried away down the hall, Ndila quickly following suit. _

_Artemesia continued on through the antechamber and Xena felt it safe to go in after her. The warrior had no plans to reveal herself, or harm the Queen this night, for the palace was teeming with guests and guards. Her purpose was merely to observe, to catalogue routine, to find out what she required in a servant so that she may be bought from Rasmus- and beside, the exoticism of this woman excited her. _

_Keeping low and close to the curvature of the turquoise egg tempera walls, Xena watched as Artemesia unfastened the clasp on her fine silk hijab. The warrior's suspicions were confirmed: beneath that facial shroud existed a set of quite striking features. Artemesia possessed not a severe, but graceful curve to her temple and jaw; her nose protruded in a steno-arc that gave proportion to the largeness of her dark eyes; her mouth was full and curved downward at the edges, her lips dark. She un-tucked the sari from her gilded belt and let fall her cloak along the back of a divan. Moving now to her closet, the Queen selected an old worn sea-faring cloak and draped it over her shoulders instead. She then settled by the fire. _

_ Spotting a hanging tapestry in the corner, Xena crept silently toward it, thinking it would give her the perfect vantage and cover. And yet, as she crept, Artemesia's low voice steadily sounded in the quiet hollow rooms. _

_ "Isha Aada," she called. _

_ Xena paused, suspended ridiculously on all fours in the middle of the floor, unsure what she should do: Stand and fight or continue this charade? Disgusted by her own inaction, Xena stood slowly and gripped the handle of her dirk at her hip. _

_ Artemesia kept her back turned, merely watching the flames dance in the hearth and the incense smoke on the mantel spiral into the air- a dangerous move for a woman who believed she had a spy in her midst. _

_ "Come around," Artemesia commanded gently in Greek. Strangely, Xena obliged, circling the divan. The Queen lounged back into the plush velvet cushions and let her eyes drift languorously from the warrior's boots, to the part in her servant's cloak where the skin of her thigh showed beneath a piece of her battledress; finally, they settled on Xena's face. The Queen took a deep breath. "A warrior. I was right." _

_ Xena merely remained silent, her attention riveted to Artemesia. _

_ "Are you an assassin?" she asked. _

_ Xena shook her head, "No." _

_ "Hmm," Artemesia touched the tip of her finger to her chin, "then sit beside me and relax, my beautiful murderess." _

_ Xena did not move. "How did you know?" _

_ A devious smile worked its way onto the Queen's face. "Simple cunning." _

_ "Just tell me." _

_ "Prince Kara-Indash and I grew up together; we are cousins," she relented. _

_ Both of Xena's eyebrows worked their way up. "Then why did you…?"_

_ "Why did I not scream? Call for Xerxes' guard?" she paused, seemed to consider her words more wisely, "I wanted to know you, beyond the confines of a dungeon". _

_ "I suppose a thanks are in order," Xena spit, advancing some. Artemesia subtly recoiled, failing to maintain her easy composure. _

_ "Tell me, warrior, what do they call you?" _

_ "And why in Hades would I tell you my name?"_

_ Artemesia stood to her feet, sure to keep her movements slow, and took a few steps forward, disappearing entirely the space between them. Her dark eyes sought out the translucence in Xena's, drawling them in and drowning them in a muddied kind of seduction. The Queen of Caria reached out and traced the curve of Xena's jaw; __she leaned in, put her lips to the warrior's ear and whispered, "So I shall know what to call out".  
Forgetting her knife, Xena's hand reached blindly out and grasped the material of Artemesia's cloak. Dragging the woman closer, she bared her teeth, and moved in to the fair olive skin of the Queen's neck; she did not bite however, merely traced her lips over a beating, warm vein.  
"Please, I am no warrior," said Artemesia in that breathy, low voice. "I cannot defend myself."  
Xena pulled back slightly, "You are a naval captain."  
"A strategist, only. And I know about the winds."  
The young warrior narrowed her eyes, and stepped away entirely; she stalked around the divan and leaned her forearms against its back. Artemesia put her knees on the couch and leaned toward Xena.  
"Who are you? What have you done with the Prince?" she asked.  
"He's dead," answered Xena simply, "and his whore too."  
Artemesia merely held Xena's stare; she did not even venture close to tears. "Good," she said, "he was after my throne, anyway."  
Taken aback, Xena pursed her lips. "It seems then, that you owe me," she replied.  
"Ah, not if you have plans to kill me," said Artemesia, a smirk on her face, "Do not take me as a fool, warrior, I know the Greeks have a bounty on my head. I sunk an Athenian warship at Euboea."  
Xena refused to show her surprise. "Very good," she said instead.  
"So you need money, do you warrior? How much?" asked the Queen, "Was it a thousand dinari, the impoverished Greeks promised?"  
Xena grit her teeth, "Something like that."  
"A grain of sand in a desert. I'll see that it is given to you, for your services with my cousin."  
With that, Artemesia rose from the couch and wrapped her cloak more tightly around her. Xena was at a loss for words and merely watched as the confounding Queen went to the hearth and threw a few logs onto the fire. "Go now," she said, her back turned, "I tire of defending my life."  
Feeling outsmarted and belittled, Xena turned with a huff and marched toward the antechamber. Before she disappeared, however, Artemesia called to her.  
"You may stay in my cousin's royal chambers for this evening, but tomorrow you must send your man away. Meet me when the sun is gone beneath the archway in the east gardens."  
Xena did not say a word, merely left as silently as she entered._

Xena sat on the bed, watching as Rasmus paced the length of the oriental carpet runner; between her thighs was pressed the hilt of her sword as she kept it steady while she ran the whetstone across its blade.  
"I can't believe it!" he exclaimed, "you must be a demon in the sack."  
"Wouldn't you like to know," said Xena, giving him a sidelong look.  
"So we wake and collect from the Queen and be on our way by mid-meal."  
"Yes, you will."

_ "And…" Rasmus paused, "wait, me? You are not coming?" _

_ "The Queen has requested I send you away," said Xena in a mock-highbrow affectation. _

_ "Since when do you take orders?" asked Rasmus, incredulously, "From anyone?" _

_ "I am _not _taking orders," Xena bit, standing from the bed. _

_ Rasmus raised his thick eyebrows, "Oh no?"_

_ "No. I'm trying to secure us a fortune without bringing the entire Persian Empire down on our heads," the Warrior Princess exclaimed. _

_ Rasmus chuckled. "If you had a cock, I'd say the Queen of Caria had it firmly in hand." _

_ Xena threw a punch that landed solidly against Rasmus' cheek, splitting the skin over the bone. Rasmus stumbled back and looked angrily at his warlord. _

_ "You've done no more than call me a whore, Rasmus," Xena growled, "men have died for less." _

_ "Aye, who do you think has been travelling with you all these seasons?" _

_ Xena sneered, but the aggression in her eyes disappeared. "You're loyal, Ras; I value that. Please, go back to Cyr and the men, deliver the gold and wait for me at Hellesport. I won't be more than a few days behind you." _

_ "That is your decision?" _

_ "Yes. I shall stay." _

Back now at the encampment, Xena watched from a high branch in a pine at the commotion going on below. Men filtered through the trees, stowing their weapons, well-satisfied by overwhelming and murdering ten Greek soldiers. And yet, Xena's eyes took in none of their smiles for she was busy looking for blonde hair and light features among the darker tones of the army. And then, as if by divinity alone, Xena spotted two men carrying a body over their shoulders, the person's features obscured by a blindfold. But, Xena knew that body, knew that skirt and that top and that hair; she nearly dove from the tree into the middle of camp.

"Gabrielle," she mouthed. When the captors drew closer, she could see that the bard was squirming in their arms. Relief like a wave washed over Xena: Gabrielle was alive. But those bastards hurt her, she could tell; no way Gabrielle would have gone without a fight. She watched as they carried her to the command tent and disappeared inside. Xena dropped soundlessly from the tree and crawled toward the tent.

Once at the back flap, she withdrew her knife and cut a small square hole in the canvas material. Through the peephole, Xena saw the back of a large man seated on a cushion; he was clothed in the fur of a wolf, his crown forged of thick precious metal and encrusted with sapphires. This man, Xena considered, must be Tetram the Great: Conqueror of Caria, Halicarnassus, the Silonians and the Tyreans. This was Artemesia's son.

"…I have no time for distractions!" Tetram boomed in his mother tongue. Xena extended her vision and saw that they had forced Gabrielle to kneel on the floor before him.

"Apologies, my Shah," said one man, gruffly, "we found her aboard the Greek ship, perhaps she might have information."

"She's no warrior," replied Tetram, waving his hand dismissively, "kill her."

Xena drew a sharp breath, positioning her blade to cut through the canvas.

"Wait!" said Gabrielle, when the warriors grabbed her arms again, "I know the woman you seek."

Tetram looked up from the map he was studying. "The Warrior Princess," he pronounced the title like a curse.

"Yes. Xena is my friend," answered Gabrielle, "and if you lay a hand on me, she'll hunt you like a dog."

Xena nearly chuckled along with Tetram at the fierceness in the bard's voice.

"A friend?" said Tetram in Greek, standing from his cushion, "Nay, the Warrior Princess has no friends, only those to command and warm the bed."

"I know that you think that, but Xena has changed. And I know for a fact, she feels such guilt for the pain she has caused your people, your mother."

Tetram growled and rolled the map up, discarding it on the ground. "My mother," he rounded on the bard, "What do you know of it, huh?"

"Queen Artemesia was a great woman-" began Gabrielle.

"Yes, a great leader, but weak of heart. She let that Warrior Bitch seduce her, let her commandeer her power and give up the wars!"

Xena felt a thrill of anxiety start low in her gut: she wished she had told Gabrielle the whole story, so that her friend would be equipped to curb Tetram's rage. But, more than ever, she wished she had never let Gabrielle come in the first place. There was no way Xena could charge in there and grab Gabrielle; they would never make it out of the camp.

"What Xena did to your mother is inexcusable," said Gabrielle, chancing to stand shakily to her feet. Talking was her greatest asset in situations such as these and so talk she would. "I'm sure your anger is consuming and justifiable. But, waging a careless war on Greece is no solution."

"You are not the lame slave I took you for," replied Tetram, ignoring the bard's reasoning.

"I am no slave; I'm a bard."

At that, Tetram emitted a loud bark of laughter. "A bard!" he exclaimed, "you mean to tell me that Xena, Destroy of Nations, lets a bard travel with her army?"

"Xena doesn't have an army, those were Athenian soldiers, servants of the Greek nation. Xena is merely filling in as a general."

"My horse's ass, Ocnus Nilos commands under King Leonidas."

"The King has asked that Xena head the army, for she has the experience with…" Gabrielle trailed off, "well, with your people."

"Because she slaughtered us and stole half the treasury!" Tetram yelled.

Gabrielle barely let the surprise show on her face. "Yes," she stalled, "but Xena is not after any kind of glory. She merely wants to avoid senseless death. Go home, Tetram, live long and prosper, raise your children."

"I have no children! I refuse to marry, love merely steals through the night and takes you for its slave."

"Is that what you think?" asked Gabrielle, sincere heartbreak in her voice. "Why is that?"

That's right, Gabrielle, thought Xena, keep him talking.

"Leave us," said Tetram to the two warriors, "Xena is on this island somewhere-chances are she is close by. Find her, bring her to me. _Alive_."

Xena's eyes widened; she had to get out of there and fast.

Hold on, Gabrielle, I'll get us out of this.


	7. VI

**A/N: **Some sexual situations and harsh language in this chapter. Read at your own discretion.

VI.

We often see

Fire burst

From an ancient volcano

We thought too old

There are, it seems

Blackened fields

That yield more wheat

Than the best of April

And when evening descends

The sky in flames

_Le rouge et le noir_

Do not wed

_Ne me quitte pas_

I will invent for you

Senseless words

That only you understand

I will speak to you

Of lovers then

Who have seen twice

Their hearts ablaze

I will tell to you

The story of a king

Dead for having met you

_Ne me quitte pas_

_-_Excerpts from the song_, "_Ne Me Quitte Pas" by Jacques Brel

[liberally translated from French by myself]

Xena ran; she ran until her lungs sang with fire, until she travelled with the ease of smoke. So far, she had managed to take out a dozen of Tetram's men—moving with the night to strike unseen. And yet then, with the bodies of their fellow warriors piling at their feet, the Persians acted like spooked horses, jumping and turning at every snap of twig, every jarred leaf. Xena tried to remain close to the camp, keeping that lone fire always to her right as she made a wide circle, waiting for her chance to steal to Tetram's tent and reach Gabrielle. But for now, she had to run.

"It seems the Warrior Princess is living up to her legend," said Tetram. He raised his mug of port in the bard's direction: a gesture of mocking rather than reverence.

Gabrielle sat on the ground, her wrists chained to a heavy wooden chest of arms. She looked forlornly at the Shah, her cheek beginning to bruise and her lip bleeding from his beating. She studied the Shah's face, admitting to herself that the man was devilishly handsome with—she imagined-his mother's dark eyes.

"Embellishment is not really needed when it comes to Xena," she answered, shifting some to try to alleviate the chaffed skin beneath tight, iron cuffs. "Tell me," began Gabrielle, "what do you hope to gain by this?" She raised her hands.

Tetram sneered, "It is quite simple, young bard. I wish to make Xena suffer. She cares for you. If she did not, she would be gone from this island. And that means that I have power over her." The Shah crept closer to Gabrielle, until he was kneeling in front of her. Reaching to her manacled hands, he wrapped a few thick fingers around the chain and yanked it toward him. Gabrielle flew forward, her body falling into the damp fur of Tetram's coat. With the other hand, he smoothed a thumb over the line of her jaw, then over her lips. Gabrielle winced more at the unwanted touch than the sting of her cut. She struggled, righting herself, and shuffled as far from the man as the chains would allow- which was, unfortunately, only a footlength.

Tetram chuckled evenly, itself a harsh sound, providing no ease or pacification. "Relax. I will not kill you, nor shall I take you. Maidenhead only rouses me these days, and as you are Xena's, there is little doubt that you have been ravished of it. Though you are sweet to smell," he gathered a lock of Gabrielle's honeyed hair and passed it under his nose, "Aye, much gold would I have paid to pluck your flower."

"Xena," Gabrielle breathed- _please, hurry_ she finished in her mind.

Incensed from her nearly silent plea, Tetram varied the method of his torture: "Tell me, little girl, how much did the Warrior Princess pay for you?"

"She didn't buy me. In fact, she rescued me from slavers. I chose to follow her."

This seemed to surprise the man. "And you remain with her of your own will?"

Gabrielle nodded.

A knowing, wicked smile spread over Tetram's gruff features. "O' course, Xena is a master of her craft. I have witnessed it myself," he chuckled again, his accent becoming thicker and betraying his increasing drunkenness, "surely, you remain enslaved to her body. What does she do to you amongst the furs, fair one?"

A pained look passed over Gabrielle's features; Tetram had found her weakness, unknowingly of course. Nevertheless, she felt deftly exposed, as if the Shah had stripped her naked upon the cold ground.

"Does she touch you?" Tetram continued, that leer still upon his face, "Does she press kisses to your breasts, mine your cunt with her rough fingers? Huh?"

Tears leapt into the placid green of Gabrielle's eyes, then rolled down over her cheeks, mixing with her blood, and dripped from her chin.

"Answer me!" Tetram roared, not used to being denied his pleasure. He advanced once more and took the bard's narrow shoulders in his hands, trying to shake the lurid confession from her, "Answer me, you whore!"

"Yes!" Gabrielle lied, "Yes."

Tetram smiled a vicious set of teeth, "Tell me."

Gabrielle trembled, gathering her knees into herself; she shook her head, refusing to allow this man any further into the privacy of her own secreted fantasies. Tetram retreated onto his haunches, the movement oddly like the animal from which his coat was skinned.

"Aka Manah," whispered Tetram, entreating the god of desire, "You're in love with a murderer." He took a long draught from his port, letting it dribble down the nappy curls of his beard. "That's it. You love her. My mother made that mistake too, for she loved Xena very much. Yes she did. More than her dead husband, more than Caria, more than her people, more than me…"

A curious expression passed before the Shah's eyes, rendering them those of a child's. And as Gabrielle looked on, Tetram the Great began to speak of his mother:

_The fronds of the olive trees did not stand a chance against Tetram's curved tulwar sword. Roughly hacked from their stems by that dull blade, they fell limply, casting their salted fruit to the ground. _

_ "Tremble beneath my might!" cried Tetram, in a voice still broken with boyhood. He slashed viciously once more, curling his lips over his teeth. _

_ "Ah, young prince Tetram," came a voice from behind him. The prince wielded his sword around in a wide, careless arc. It was stopped luckily by a metal bracer upon a thick forearm._

"_Aye! Watch where you swing that thing," said the Shah of the Persian Empire. _

_ Upon recognizing who had almost struck, Tetram sunk down to his knees, pressing his face onto the ground. "Apologies Great Shah," mumbled the boy into the soil, "I did not know." _

_ "You need not sink beneath me," said Xerxes, hoisting the boy up by his tunic, "and what are you doing all alone this fine day? Where are the playmates I have given to you?" _

_ Tetram looked up at Xerxes, squinting at the sun low in the sky behind the Shah's shoulder. "I sent them away, Aghaye. I wished to be alone." _

_ "Aye, boy. Sometimes I long for a thousand solitudes," agreed Xerxes, resting a hand on Tetram's shoulder. _

_ "Will you conquer Greece?" ventured Tetram, rather boldly. _

_ Xerxes guffawed at that, smiling from ear to ear. "I like a man who speaks plainly. But I cannot answer your question. War is a nefarious thing. I would sooner have it end, then fight for much longer. However, I do believe us very close to victory. And we will venture even closer with the wisdom of leaders like your mother." _

_ Tetram dug the point of his sword into the dirt and twisted it round and round so that it corkscrewed down and down. He nodded, seeming to process what the Shah had said. War is bad? Why, then, do men fight them? _

_ "Say, my Prince," said Xerxes, "have you seen your mother as of late? She was not in her rooms." _

_ "Baleh, she was walking the east gardens; she wished also to be alone for she sent me away."_

_ "You and I and your mother are all quite alike," said Xerxes, with a strange note of wistfulness. _

_ Again, Tetram nodded. _

_ "I bid you search for her and send her to me."_

"_Baleh, Aghaye," replied Tetram. _

_Xerxes patted Tetram's shoulder once more. But, before he turned, he offered in a gentle voice, "The kings of Persia and I will go hunting on the morrow. Would you like to join us? I have a horse just suited for you." _

_ The boy's eyes lit with the glow of youth and wonder. "Oh, yes, my Shah. I would like that very much." _

_ "Then it shall be settled._ Shab bekheyr!_" With that, Xerxes turned and made off through the muscari, the tulips and the irises, the sun setting at his back. _

_ Tetram nearly skipped his way under the trellises of the promenade. Hunting! With the Shah! Nothing could have made the boy happier. Through the half-crumbled stones of the east garden gates, he passed. For some reason, he quieted his steps and thought it a good joke to hide from his mother and frighten her from the trees. It was hard to surprise her, and it was a game they often played- to see who could scare the other first. And so, through the thick-growing laurel he stole. _

_ Hearing voices nearby, Tetram crawled on his stomach and parted the foliage to peer through undetected. What he saw was his mother and another dark-haired woman standing close in a small clearing; they looked to be in an argument. The woman looked to be a slave and Tetram wondered at her audacity to be raising her voice to the Queen of Caria. From a very young age had he been trained in Greek and thus understood the Grecian tongue they spoke in. _

_ "You said it would be taken care of!" hissed the strange woman. _

_ "It's not my fault your man got himself killed," replied Artemesia, "he was, of course, carrying a lot of coin with him."_

_ "Cow shit! You arranged to have him murdered. I know it!" The woman sunk low, her energy reeling off in bright gasps; she circled his mother, like a wolf circling its prey. _

_ "I have denied it too many times already. Once more will not make you believe me." Artemesia turned with the woman as she circled, always keeping her in sight. _

_ "Rasmus was loyal to me; that's hard to come by." The woman shook her head. _

_ "Yes, I know," said Artemesia, rather forlornly, "I am sorry about your friend."_

_ "I'm more sorry about my money," she answered with a sneer, "I don't suppose you'll offer reimbursement." _

_ "Why is it you need so much? What is it for?" _

_ "My business, not yours," said the woman, invading his mother's personal space once more. But the Queen was undaunted. Moving easily, she grasped one of the woman's hands and held it before her eyes to inspect is palm. _

_ "Callouses," murmured the Queen, "and the manner in which you move, like a predator. The way you speak, like a sailor. That you did not seek to kill the Shah and that you are a Greek… you're a warlord. Are you not?" _

_ The woman smiled a feral, low-lidded smile and Tetram, from the trees, felt a pull deep within at the ferocity of her beauty. _

_ "Yes," she drawled out the word, "come to ravish beautiful Queens of their treasure and chastity." _

_ "Treasure have I, chastity have I not," replied Artemesia, smiling and stepping closer. _

_ "Don't think I'll settle for just one," whispered the woman, allowing the Queen to drawl her arms around her hips. _

_ "Pray, I ask for one thing only."_

_ "And what is that?" replied the much taller woman, dragging Artemesia's hands from her hips to her shoulders; in their stead, she placed her own hands and pulled the Queen closer still. _

_ "Your name, my dark beauty," answered Artemesia. _

_ The woman leaned down and placed her lips so very close to her captive's ear. Tetram had to strain to hear the whispered name, the name that would haunt him for years to come._

_ "Xena," the Queen sighed as the warlord molded their bodies together. She drew her hands down the sides of Artemesia's hips and bunched the material in her hands, hiking it up past her thighs. Gathering the dress in one hand, the warlord disappeared her other beneath the hem, reaching up between the Queen's legs. She then swallowed Artemesia's cry into her own mouth, and picked up the smaller woman, only to slam her down against the flat of a stone bench. Falling into the cradle of the Queen's hips, the warlord found the sway, biting and ripping the material from her concubine's body. The Queen's hands lost themselves into that mane of thick, trinket-laden dark hair and her sighs turned to moans. "Xena!" she cried. _


	8. VII

VII.

_O city in pain! O city nearly dead!_

_City whom the dark Past could bless:_

_ Body galvanized back to life to suffer such tremendous pain, _

_You are drinking in dreadful life once more! You feel_

_The ghastly pale worms flooding back in your veins, _

_And the icy fingers prowling on your unclouded love!_

_The Poet says to you: "Your Beauty is Marvelous!" _

_The tempest sealed you in supreme poetry; _

_The huge stirring of strength comes to your aid; _

_The Poet will take the sobs of the Infamous, _

_The hate of Galley slaves, the clamour of the Damned; _

_And the beams of her love will scourge Womankind_

_Her verses will leap out: There's for you! There! Villains!_

_ -_excerpts from "The Parisian Orgy", Arthur Rimbaud

In the grey light of dawn, Xena clasped her hand around a root vine brittle from the cold; it crumbled like talc and she felt herself falling, falling down the sheer face of the cliff. Catching herself on a minor ledge, she felt her muscles pull taut like a rope and she couldn't help the loose shale that tumbled down beneath her. Below, the warriors on the forest floor looked up saw the woman hanging precariously from the ledge.

"Archers!" she heard one shout.

"Son-of-a-Bacchae!" Xena swore, just before the first arrow flew dangerously close to her head. Snatching another out of the air, she used the arrowhead to dig it into the compacted moss on the cliff wall and climb up. She barely registered the brief pain of another projectile embedding itself in the back of her calf. With a deep, steadying breath, Xena launched herself over the ledge and clung to a jutting rock. Another frenzied scurry and she pulled herself over the lip of the peak and disappeared from the soldiers' view.

The warrior woman lay for a moment on the weatherworn peat, attempting to calm her wracking breath. Beyond her vision, over the vast blue Aegean, rose one of the most splendorous sunrises she had ever witnessed. Any appreciation, however, was locked away with her heart in that command tent of the Shah of Caria. Gabrielle, she thought. Xena felt sick.

Slowly, she sat up and took a cursory look at the arrow wound in her leg. The shaft of the weapon had broken off in her climb, but the head still lay buried in her torn flesh. Gritting her teeth, Xena unsheathed the short service knife from her boot and—without any preamble- plunged the tip into her wound and dug out the offending iron shrapnel.

Holding up the arrowhead briefly under her nose, she thanked the gods the arrow wasn't dipped in poison. Xena licked her bottom lip and discovered the metallic taste of blood: she had bitten her lip with a sharp incisor in effort to keep silent. She wished she had a flagon of water to wash away the taste. She remembered when she gained almost a sexual satisfaction from that taste; she remembered a few body slaves during her warlording days and how they would satiate that particular craving. Violence and sex were so tangled up in her mind, each aiding and pursuing one another, that she had given up pleasures of the flesh altogether. In fact, Xena realized many seasons ago, that she and Gabrielle would have allowed such intimacy if it were not for the warrior's stoicism and resolve. Xena wasn't daft; she recognized the telltale flush over Gabrielle's fair skin, her own heart aflutter, the long-held looks, and the unreasonable touches. In fact, she remembered one night, not too long before their Fated trip to Brittainia when Gabrielle had demonstrated quite plainly her desires:

_Xena leaned across the length of the table and swiped gracefully at her friend's mug of wine. _

_ "I think you've had enough," she said, smiling at Gabrielle's half-slumped posture and how she leaned a little too heavily back in her chair. _

_ "Zeus' britches! Canna a bard hava drink?" she slurred, knocking a lazy fist against the table. When Gabrielle drank, her normally loquacious and refined vocabulary was reduced to the rapport of a bawdy sailor. _

_ "You've had four," Xena replied, trying to keep the amusement out of her reprimand. _

_ Gabrielle drunkenly considered this, tallying up a number in her mind. "Actually…" she giggled, "five. Had one 'fore, when you were stabling that damned horse."_

_ "Hey, just because you're liquored up, doesn't mean I'll allow you to insult Argo." _

_ "All ya care about's Argo," Gabrielle said, forlornly. She draped herself over the tabletop, burying her face in her arms. _

_ Xena frowned at the turn in conversation; she reached out a hand and laid it over the bard's forearm. "Hey, that's not true." _

_ "Yesh it is," came the mumbled reply. _

_ Xena leaned further over and placed her mouth close to Gabrielle's ear. "I care about you," she said. _

_ "I don't believe you."_

_Xena heard tears in the bard's voice. Pushing back her chair, the warrior rose and swept to Gabrielle's side. Gently, she knelt next to her chair and placed her hand on her friend's thigh. Gabrielle looked up at this, tear tracks down her ruddy cheeks; something broken appeared in those green eyes. _

_ "Let's get you to bed, huh?" said Xena. _

_ The fight gone out of her, Gabrielle merely nodded and allowed the warrior to hoist her up. Throwing a few dinari onto the table, Xena helped her friend through the thinning tavern crowd to the back staircase. At the foot of the stairs, however, Gabrielle paused. She extracted herself from the warrior's aid and leaned against the wall. She tried to focus her vision on the woman next to her, succeeding only in looking tired and somewhat angry. Xena raised an eyebrow. _

_ "What?" The look in the bard's eyes begged a hush in Xena's voice. _

_ "I'm a coward," she said. _

_ Xena pursed her lips, "No you're not. Come on, sweetheart." She tried to egg the bard on up the narrow staircase toward their room, but Gabrielle was determined. _

_ "And you're a coward."_

_ That effectively got Xena's attention. Not just anybody called the Warrior Princess a coward and kept all their limbs intact. One glance, however, at the attempted seriousness and gravity in the bard's stare quelled any notion of anger. "In some things, yes," she replied. _

_ "Why d'ya think I drank s'much ta'night?" she queried. _

_ "Long day?" Xena attempted, unsure where this conversation was headed. _

_ "Liquid courage," Gabrielle replied, a note of resignation and sobriety in her voice. _

_And then, without any warning, Gabrielle pushed herself off the wall, stood on her toes and pressed her wine-scented lips to Xena's. The kiss was brief but so pregnant with intent and promise and passion. It left the warrior in a heady daze, the taste of mulberry on her lips, feeling like she was the one who had consumed too much wine. Gabrielle leaned heavily against Xena, resting her cheek against the warrior's breastplate, letting her arms dangle at her sides. _

_ "Take me to bed, Xena," she whispered. _

_Her heart jumping like a flame at those words, but knowing that she couldn't take the bard's inebriated words seriously, Xena scooped Gabrielle in her arms and ascended the stairs. _

Now, on the peak of this cliff, on this cursed island, with a sizable puddle of blood pooling beneath her leg, Xena smiled at the memory. She remembered how she had tucked the bard into their pallet and how Gabrielle was already asleep; she remembered crawling in next to her, drawling the blanket around them and blowing out the candle. She remembered that, the next morning, neither of them mentioned what had happened the previous night- Xena unsure if Gabrielle remembered, and Gabrielle too embarrassed to remind her. And what with the insanity of Dahak and Hope and Elusia and their unprecedented anger toward one another- the sentiments had all but faded into half-vanished memory.

"I want another chance," said Xena aloud, letting her words carry on the wind and out to sea. "By the gods, Gabrielle, I want another chance."

Newly resolved, Xena tore a piece of her shift and tied a tourniquet just under her femoral artery. She crept to the edge of the cliff and glanced down, searching for the Persians. There, scaling the same path she had taken earlier, were her pursuers: she had to act quickly. Xena stood and walked to the other side of the cliff; and for some unknown reason, she scanned the horizon where the faint outline of the Athenian coast could be distinguished from the sky and sea. There, like a toy in the distance, was the unmistakable three sails of an Athenian warship. Her spirit soared with renewed hope.

"Leonidas, you jewel," she laughed, shaking her head. The king must have known that something was wrong when the contingent failed to return, and launched a rescue fleet. That, or he planned on forcing Tetram's hand and attacking them with a superior navy. To do that, Leonidas would have to drawl the Persian fleet out into open water. Smiling a feral smile, Xena glanced down the fifty or so meters into the waves crashing against the rocky coast.

Behind her, she heard the telltale movement of the Persian footsmen, hot on her trail. Turning, ebony hair whipping in a gust of wind, she caught the eye of the leading warrior as he crested the lip. He looked surprised to see that she had remained atop the cliff for them to catch up.

_This'll be easy_, thought the soldier, his comrades surfacing behind him, _famed warrior_ _my arse_.

"Tell your Shah I'm comin' for him!" called Xena, her voice fractured with malice, "and if he hurts my friend, every last one of you will die."

Then, choosing her timing very carefully, just after the crest of a wave, Xena leapt from the cliff into the sea. As she fell, she thought of Artemisia, and her similar flight—a leap into the vastness of her feeling, drowning in a sea of love.

"Xena," said Tetram, "the name itself, I have forbidden to be spoken within my kingdom."

"That must have been hard for you," said Gabrielle, her voice growing weary and her eye swelling closed, "to watch your mother be so deceived and then betrayed."

"You don't know the half of it, bard!" he growled, raising his hand again to strike her.

"Please!" Gabrielle cried, sinking beneath the shadow of his hand. She was bone-weary, rendered delirious with fatigue and pain. She knew she must keep her wits about her—all that experience and training with Xena told her that she had to keep alert for an opportunity to escape. Nothing had presented itself yet, and she felt her nerves wrought with worry: She could barely breathe at the prospect of Xena out in those woods, running like a hunted animal, pursued by three-hundred bloodthirsty men. If anyone could survive such conditions, however, Gabrielle knew it would be Xena. And so thus, her hope and her silent prayers remained steadfast. She closed her eyes, waiting for the blow.

"My liege!" the tent flap parted to reveal one of Tetram's lieutenants.

Tetram's attention was diverted, and Gabrielle thanked the blessed intrusion.

"What is it?" barked the Shah, reverting to his mother tongue. The warrior's eyes were wild as he related information to his king, the words of which Gabrielle tried desperately to understand. She heard Xena's name and tears sprang to her eyes. _Please, please, please…_ she chanted silently, _please let her be alive._

The Shah showed signs of growing anger and for a moment he looked down; it seemed a cloud of rage built up around him. He glanced back to his lieutenant, bloodlust filling his eyes.

"_Bebakhshid_," he murmured before drawling his knife and slitting the man's throat in one clean, remorseless movement.

Gabrielle strangled her scream of horror as she felt droplets of blood rain down upon her. The warrior fell to the ground, his body still twitching with the last remaining dregs of life.

Tetram wheeled around and yanked Gabrielle up by her chains. The pain was undeniable, and the bard couldn't help the weakness of her yell as the Shah dragged her close. Tears streamed freely down her cheeks, her whole body quivering in agony.

"It seems your Princess has leapt to her death," whispered Tetram, his breath tickling Gabrielle's face, "which is fitting, considering how my mother met her own."

"You lie," said Gabrielle, ashamed by the level of her fear, "Xena wouldn't leave me."

"Oh? And what makes you so sure?"

"You wouldn't have killed the messenger if it were good news."

"To the contrary, fair one, I killed him because he deprived me the pleasure of her blood on my hands," Tetram snarled.

Gabrielle considered this, how it did not seem too farfetched based upon the barbarism she had yet seen in the Shah. But she had to keep her faith alive. She decided to play her cards:

"So kill me then," she sneered, "you've no reason now to keep me alive." If he agreed, then she would join Xena soon in the afterlife and if he didn't, she would know Xena was still alive.

To her utmost surprise, Tetram smiled. "Ah, very good, bard," he said, "you have called my bluff."

"So she is alive," breathed Gabrielle, relief flooding through every vein.

"Regrettably." Tetram pushed her roughly away, so that she stumbled backward and fell across the armory chest. The pain could not pierce her joy, however: Xena was alive!

"It seems your King has a fleet of ships in harbor," said Tetram, "he is a stupid fool to believe I would contest in the waters, when I have such advantage on land."

"Perhaps," Gabrielle said wearily.

Turning, Tetram swept to the tentpole and snatched his cloak off the peg from which it hung. "I'm off to win a war long in the making," he said, "I won't be long my dear."

With that, he withdrew the flap and disappeared into the startling sunlight.


	9. VIII

**A/N: **Some S&M content here. Be warned or be warmed.

VIII.

_ Heaven! Love! Freedom! What a dream, oh poor crazed girl!_

_ You melted to her as snow does to a fire; _

_ Your great visions strangled your words_

_-And fearful Infinity terrified your blue eye!_

_-Arthur Rimbaud, "Ophelia"_

_ The smoke curled like sleeping Bombay cats amongst the silks. The sweetness of the burnt fragrance was a hallowing touch in these stately quarters and Yazmin kept her steps light as she passed through the antechamber into her mistress' rooms. Moving timidly down the hall, the servant stepped over a discarded belt, the rumpled pile of her mistress' fine sari, a cracked black leather boot, a dagger half-unsheathed from its frog. When she pushed past the drawn curtain, however, a scream rose unbidden from her throat. Against the furthest wall, nearest the hearth, her Queen stood chained to the rafters—her clothing hanging from her body in shreds. Across her back lay latticework bruises flooding with color and thin cuts that oozed dark, crimson rivulets. At the piercing intrusion, however, the inflictor of such torture—half-dressed in a loose, tattered tunic and leather pants—turned lazily and raised a finely sculpted dark brow at Yazmin's terror. Dangling lazily from her hand, were the nine tails of a cat whip. _

"_I shall call the guards!" the servant threatened in Farsi. _

_ The strange woman merely smiled wickedly; she turned from her prey and fell languidly among the cushions propped against the frame of the divan. "Artemisia… explain to your girl here about pleasure" said the woman in her foreign tongue, her voice like the smoke, "or I'll explain to her about pain." _

_ From her place against the cool sandstone wall, the Queen rattled her chains, turning to glance back at her long-time body slave. "Yazmin," Artemisia began, "leave us; I am not in danger." _

_ Xena chuckled, the sound more like a growl than laughter. Yazmin glanced fleetingly at the dark-haired woman, realizing just how savagely beautiful she was and debating whether she should obey her Queen at all. Relying on instinct literally beaten into her, however, Yazmin decided that following a direct order was in her best interest. Turning, the servant swept from the room. _

_ Maneuvering in a rather nubile fashion, Artemisia twisted the chains, her arms pulled taut, and turned so that she could face her tormenter. _

_ "I do believe my servant ruined," said the Queen, gazing through hazy lust-clouded eyes. _

_ Xena shrugged, picking up the hookah in the cherry-wood shape of a squat fat man, its stem protruding from his nipple. She crawled to the hearth and selected a piece of kindling to lay in the fire; once the tip was sufficiently ablaze, the warrior extracted the stick and lit the bowl of the pipe. Placing full lips— raw and deeply red from their bruising kisses— around the mouthpiece, Xena inhaled sumptuously that heady mixture of tobacco leaf and opium seed. She leaned against the divan, holding the smoke in her lungs, extended her neck backward like a swan, baring skin like the alabaster of Peris, the sprite of death and beauty. _

_ A guttural sound from the pit of the Queen's desire moves Xena to level her stare and stand. She walks purposefully toward her captive and pauses a hair's breathe from the Queen's lips. Darting the tip of her tongue briefly along Artemisia's dark lips, she entices them to open and finally exhales slowly, fully the potent smoke into the other woman's lungs. Artemisia inhales, lapping up this offering as she had every eroticism the warrior woman had chosen to impart. A similar wanton blackness envelopes both pairs of eyes and both are a little unsteady on their feet. _

_ "Release me from these chains," breathes Artemisia, the purplish smoke billowing around them, "I wish to ravish you." _

_ Xena smiles, lips pulled tight over sharp, pearl-white teeth. "I kind of like the look of you in chains," she responds, running her hands over the woman's hips. _

_ "I'm sure your Greek blood roils at the sight." _

_ In answer, Xena merely tears the rest of the Queen's tattered clothing from her body, exposing a pair of small breasts and dusky nipples. She attacks the woman's neck, using teeth to rake down its length; her hands find purchase around the full shape of the Queen's buttocks. A growl of her own rips from Artemisia's throat at the sensation of those skilled ministrations. Xena captures her mouth in a crushing, animistic kiss and the Queen struggles in her bondage to drawl the woman more fully against her. From her cleavage, Xena extracts a small iron key and places it in the lock of one cuff. The iron shackle releases, and in a swift motion, the warrior pulls the chain free of the rafter and the Queen's weight sinks into her arms. With her one free arm, Artemisia grasps the material of Xena's tunic and rips the cloth from her chest, exposing a dirtied breast wrap beneath. She claws at the bondage, trying to free for her own pleasure more of the warrior's warm supple flesh. In response, however, Xena twirls from reach and at once has the length of the chain wound around the Queen's neck. _

_ She pulls savagely at the leash, pulling Artemisia backward against her. The Queen cries out at the pain of her lacerated back, the pain of a blinding strangulation— but it is a cry borne of pure hedonism. The warrior woman shoves her captive from her, onto the cushions and mounts her from behind, sliding her thighs over the bruised flesh of the Queen's hips. Xena leans forward, allowing her full weight to flow over the surface of the woman's prostrate body. She puts her lips to the fold of Artemisia's ear. _

_ "You're mine to ride like a sow," she whispers, the power of conquest pushing her to new heights of pleasure. "Mine…" she drawls, "all mine". _

_ "Royalty possessed by a pirate," choked Artemisia, straining under the warrior's weight, "the audacity." _

_ "I don't think you're in a position to insult," said Xena, reaching behind her to trace the crevice between two rising mounds of flesh. Beneath her, Artemisia unconsciously trembled and raised her hips off the ground to entice Xena's hand to seek its purchase in her depths. _

_ "Please," the Queen hissed, her trembling rocking them both. _

_ "That's right. Beg," said Xena, sliding off the Queen and drawling her hips up so that she rested on her knees and elbows. She tugged on the chain and Artemisia responded with a strangled whimper, holding herself open and vulnerable before this savage woman. Xena moved her fingers between the woman's legs and tangled through the curled, rough hair above her sex, tugging some in the process. _

_ "Akah Manah!" the Queen cursed, "baleh, a'alan!" _

_ "Still issuing commands, huh?" said Xena, trailing her fingers through the fountain of heady liquid pooling from Artemisia's core. _

_ "Please, I'm yours!" rasped the Queen, "my body is yours to command!" _

_ Xena teased the woman's slick opening with the tip of her finger, swirling it around its circumference and loving the way it placed her concubine even further under her control. _

_ "Oh, there's no question of your body," said Xena, pushing just the tip of her finger inside the Queen's entrance, "it's your soul I'm after." _

_ "Yours," breathed Artemisia, without hesitation and the oath turned to a scream when Xena thrust three fingers deep inside her channel. Sparing some small mercy, Xena loosened the chain from Artemisia's neck— after all, it wasn't necessary: the Queen had fully and willingly submitted, body and soul. _

_ "Mine," the warrior whispered, finding that beastly rhythm. _

Another wave crashed and buried her, sinking her again beneath the tumult of the cove's tide. Resurfacing, Xena found the Athenian fleet in her vision. Judging that she was near enough for them to see her now, she unsheathed her sword and waved it manically in the air to catch a glint of sunlight. The Warrior Princess emitted a series of piercing battlecries. Traveling across the sound, she heard the blessed reply: "Man overboard!" Grinning, Xena took off with a powerful stroke as the bow of the ship turned in her direction.

In little time, the warrior grasped the sea-slimed rope of the drop-ladder and felt the inertia of such a large vessel drag her through the water. Mining the strength from somewhere deep inside_—_the place a certain bard occupied within_—_Xena climbed up the side of the ship and collapsed on deck.

"Ares be damned," came a gruff voice from above, "it's Xena."

The prodigal woman in question looked up at the rough faces of those gathered around: King Leonidas, his naval captain and crew.

"We have to stop meeting like this," said Xena, hauling herself to her feet.

Barely smiling, Leonidas threw his own cloak around the warrior's shoulders. "What in Hades happened?"

"He knew," said Xena, her fatigued body beginning to wrack with shivers. "Somehow, Tetram got wind of our contingency. You know what that means."

Leonidas nodded grimly, "An internal spy."

"Yes, which means we should take this conversation somewhere more private."

Below deck, in the captain's quarters, Leonidas and Xena stood across from each other over a richly carved mahogany desk. On its surface lay spread an intricate map of the western ports of Greece. Xena pointed to a pinprick on the isle of Salamis.

"That's where the camps are," she said, "although, by this time, I'm sure they're packed up and on the move."

"We can't storm the island," said Leonidas, "our numbers are evenly matched and they have the high ground."

"Yes, yes, I know," said Xena, her patience wearing, "I'm saying we need to force his hand, draw him out to sea."

"He understands his advantage, only a fool would fall for such a scheme."

"And Tetram's no fool," said Xena, "Listen, I've got a plan. It's risky, but it just might work."

"No, Xena. I risked our fleet only to rescue the men who made up your contingency. They're all dead now. We head back to Athens and wait for them to attack on land, where we have reinforcements, battlements, supplies_—_"

With fatal precision, Xena launched across the table and grabbed his chest-plate, dragging the King of Athens to within an inch of her face. "Did you hear me? Gabrielle's on that island! She's being terrorized by a beast of my own making! I'm not leaving her."

"Alright," Leonidas gasped, "alright, let go. Calmly now, Xena."

Xena released her hold, instead falling into a predatory pace behind the desk, her hands on her hips.

"Why don't you let the healer tend to your wound _—"_

"No time," Xena barked, her eyes an otherworldly blue, "now listen to me. We've got a few barrels of Greek fire, I say we smoke the Persians out of hiding."

"Xena! There's a Greek settlement just to the east; we're not firebombing our own people!"

"Which is why it's imperative that we get to Gabrielle. If I get her away from Tetram, he has no leverage against me and Gabrielle can ride to the village and warn its people."

Leonidas laughed, "That slip of a girl? She's injured as is, there's no way she can make the ride across the island, let alone convince a whole town to evacuate."

Xena fixed the King with a deadly serious look. "Do not make the mistake of underestimating Gabrielle," the warrior woman betrayed her guilt in an unconscious expression, "Gods know, I sure have."


	10. IX

VIV.

_Why should she give her bounty to the dead?_

_What is divinity if it can come _

_Only in silent shadows and dreams? _

_Shall she not find in comforts of the sun, _

_[…] Things to be cherished like the thought of heaven?_

_Divinity must live within herself:_

_ -"Sunday Morning", Wallace Stevens_

They had been marching through the dawn, one of the most beautiful Gabrielle had ever seen—and seen through a swollen eye no less. Perhaps, she was just happy at having survived the enduring darkness of the night and of the undulating howls of men on the hunt.

Tetram had passed her off to a foot soldier, who now held her chain loosely in his calloused hand as they puffed up the steep incline of the mountain. The Shah had insisted on moving further up, so that they may be able to see the Athenian fleet in the harbor. Each step the bard took became more labored than the next, her body ached as it never had before. When she placed her leaden foot on a loose stone, Gabrielle lost her footing and fell on all fours. Ahead, the foot soldier halted his trek, his compatriots filing around him in a current of ascent. Instead of yanking violently on her chain, however, the warrior-a young man, Gabrielle now realized-walked the few paces back and stooped onto his haunches.

Her head hung low; her breath came in wracks and her head burned and throbbed like the heart of a volcano. Suddenly, she felt that broad, rough hand on the side of her cheek. Looking up, she found the young solider gazing at her.

"_Isha, a'alan. Asman_—"he said gently. She decided his eyes were kind.

Gabrielle shook her head, signaling either her incomprehension or her inability to go on any longer. He said a few more unintelligible words in that intoxicating language.

"I don't understand," said Gabrielle.

The warrior pressed his hands together as if in prayer, then drove them forth up into the air as if they were a bird taking to flight. Tears nearly drove her utter frustration.

"I can't!" she said, "I can't go on anymore."

The warrior's brow knit together and eventually he abandoned his efforts to communicate in words. Bending further, he proceeded to scoop up the smaller woman in his arms and, as gently as possible given their treacherous circumstance, threw her over his shoulder. He then began to carry her up the mountain.

Gabrielle could feel the warrior's heavy breaths, his muscles turning on the axle of his bones and in that moment, she felt with a greater depth the commonality of being human. She found that it was as easy to give up hatred as letting water sieve through one's fingers. These people were not evil, did not necessitate annihilation by a greater race. Like the Greeks and like the Romans and like the Ch'inese and like the Palmyra, the Persian race consisted of singular people, those who are bad and good or some combination of the two. Tetram had let his own inbred beast consume him; but, here, her enemy had shown her kindness in the most bizarre of moments. And in doing, her enemy redeemed Gabrielle's faith in humanity.

When they reached the top of the cliff, the warrior set her down on the volcanic terrain. Gabrielle looked up at her keeper, betraying her weakness in a few wracking shivers. The soldier proceeded to unfasten his shoulder cape from his armor and shook it out in the gust of wind that swept over the peak of the cliff. He drew it, not gracefully, around Gabrielle's shoulders and attempted a black-toothed smile.

"_Asman,_" he said again, handing her his own skin of water.

Gabrielle smiled and took the offered flask.

"Angel," called an elder soldier sitting on a nearby rock. He spits a rose-colored liquid, sporting a gash across his face and a bruise developing under his eye. "Zami says to you, _Asman, _god of the sky," he points up to the sun-washed clouds, "he thinks you are an angel."

Gabrielle looks at the young soldier, Zami she now knows he is called, and takes his hand. This stills him and he sinks onto his haunches to better look at this woman fallen from the heavens. He gives her a questioning look.

She can think of only one word in his language that she knows. "_Shalom_," she says. For what is a better greeting between people than to wish them _peace_? Between her smaller palms, she presses his hand and tries to impart her thanks in the gesture. Zami smiles and pats her on the head as he says something in an admonishing manner to the other soldier who had translated.

The other soldier gets up and smacks Zami on the arm, laughing heartily. Gabrielle wished she could understand the joke, desperate for the soothing balm of laughter.

"So, you are Xena's?" asks the other soldier.

Gabrielle looks up, "Yes." She had never thought of herself as belonging to anyone. But if she were ever to belong to someone, it would be to Xena. They belonged to each other. She feels a longing pull through her body like a tenuous rope. She looks out to sea and finally spots the three Athenian warships anchored in harbor. Somewhere out there is her warrior.

"She is a goddess?" asked the soldier.

"A goddess?" repeats Gabrielle.

"The Warrior Princess. I fought her spirit in the night. She would make herself disappear, turn herself into trees and kill us unseen. My people have a name for such a daimon: _Daeva_. She is madness. She is lust and wrath and vengeance. A lover of war. Her eternal partner is death- together they chase the souls of fallen warriors as they rise to the heavens."

For some reason, this brings a fresh wave of tears to the eyes of the poet. She places her hand on the soldier's arm, "Xena is no demon. She is not a goddess. She's flesh and blood, like you and me. And like humans, she makes mistakes. Long ago, in the land of your people, she made a mistake. But, you must understand," Gabrielle's words take on the heat of her fever, searching out the dark eyes of this soldier, "she has changed. Xena does not want to conquer your people. I know for a fact, her past torments her. But your Shah, Tetram, he is attacking her people. And all Xena knows is war. If she feels threatened, she will fight back. Can't you see: this war is senseless?"

The soldier squinted at her in the brightening sunlight, "You lie."

"I may be a bard, but I do not lie," says Gabrielle gently, "not in something as important as this."

The soldier nods, "Many here believe that the Shah has gone mad with lust for Xena's blood. It has been many years since her Great Wrong, and many soldiers are too young to remember."

"Do you? Remember, I mean," asks Gabrielle.

"Yes. I am older than these pups," he laughs, rubbing his balding head, "I was in Halicarnassus when our Queen and her Foreign Witch-for that is what she was called after-travelled the streets in the grandest of processionals. My mother was a servant for the Queen, her name was Yazmin. She would tell my father, who was a footsoldier under Artemisia, many tales from the inner palace walls. It was very odd: my mother hated the Warrior Princess, while my Father had only words of praise."

"Tell me," said Gabrielle.

_ News travelled far and wide to those in the Turkish port of Halicarnassus of the Queen's eminent arrival. Many wished for a confirmation of Xerxes' naval war with the Greeks, but many more hungered for a sight of their beloved Queen and a glimpse of the rumored warrior she was bringing back from Byzantium. It was said that Artemisia had chosen a champion for her Royal Guard and that it was not only a woman, but a Greek at that. The gossip had run rampant through the Halicarnassian taverns, over fisherman's wharfs, over family dinner tables, among the washerwomen, and among the palace advisors. Needless to say, the gathering at the port for Artemisia's return was an outpour. _

_ From the edges of the dock, a young boy sat on his father's shoulders, a small hand cupped over his brow at the approaching fleet. _

_ "Baba! Look!" he yelled, "is Maamaan on that ship?" _

_ He could feel his father's laughter, "Yes, Ahmet, as I have told you a thousand times." _

_They were jostled by the throngs around them, clamoring to get a good vantage. They watched as the leading ship in the fleet drew alongside the dock, as dozens of sailors threw ropes down to those who stood on the docks and looped them around heavy iron rivets. A long flat plank of wood was thrown up onto the side of the ship, fashioning a bridge to the dock. _

_It seemed the gathered crowd was one indrawn breath as they waited for their Queen's appearance. And then, an enormous cheer erupted all around, as she climbed over the lip of the ship. She stood above her people, dressed in a flowing crimson naval cape and the most ornate of gilded headdresses. At her side, as they had expected, was a tall woman, more impressive in stature than her royal counterpart and most definitely a warrior. Artemisia had her shrouded in black garb, her chest adorned in silver armor bearing the Halicarnassian crest, and a thin silver piece fit around her head from which hung a sheer black veil. They walked arm-in-arm down the plank to the awaiting caravan of camels. _

_ "Maamaan!" shouted Ahmet, scrambling down from his father's shoulders. Yazmin glanced from the caravan, where she was gathering the trailing hem of Artemisia's cape and settling it in the saddle. The servant woman bestowed a brilliant smile on her son. _

_ "Go, Yazmin," said the Queen, "I shall see you at dinner." _

_ "Thank you, Isha," said Yazmin, barely looking back as she ran into the waiting arms of her husband. _

_ "You allow your body servant a husband?" asked the black-shrouded woman, fingering the tulwar sword at her hip. _

_ "Of course," replied Artemisia, watching the small family embrace with a wistful look, "even the lowliest of slaves deserves happiness, Xena." The Queen seemed to forget the thousands who looked upon her as she reached out and cupped the warrior's cheek, trying to peer through the veil she had insisted upon. "Someday you too will know happiness, love. I intend to teach you." _

_ "If you call what we do love," said Xena, leaning in from her own saddle, "then consider me the most ardent of students." She attempted to brush aside her veil in order to prove her point, but the Queen's hand on her own impeded the action. _

_ "Not here, Xena," she said, "there is plenty of time for that later. But it must be at the palace."_

_ "Some lessons are harder than others," the warrior teased, settling back into her saddle, "I've never ridden a camel before."_

_ Artemisia laughed aloud at that. "They're like horses but more stubborn and less loyal." _

_ Xena made a face. _

_ "Just let the camel lead you, it knows where it's headed." _

_They began to bumble along the cobbled roads, trying to maneuver around the people who flowed like a river around their caravan. They threw flowers and yelled praise up to their Queen. Some even bowed their heads in acknowledgment of her consort. _

_ "Your people love you," said Xena once they were almost to the gates. _

_ Artemisia looked out amongst the throngs, the smile on her face born of utmost content. It was the smile of one who had achieved it all, found it all: power, prestige, respect, wealth, and love. _

_ "I love them," she replied. _

_Yazmin took up the clay jug of honeyed wine and poured two cups in the dim lantern light. Balancing a tray with all three items placed just so, she walked out onto the terrace to where her Queen and consort stood beneath the trellis. The two stood, leaning into one another in the moonlight, the fragrant hydrangea flowers dripping upon them like raindrops._

"_My Queen," said Yazmin, softly._

"_Ah, here you are," said Artemisia, turning from her lover's arms and taking the cups of wine. She offers one to Xena. "You see, Yazmin here is the most perfect of servants. Quiet when she must, but enough of brute to wrestle the good wine from the merchants in market."_

_Xena takes a sip from her chalice, then spits it out, turning to Artemisia with an incredulous look. "You call that good?" she sputters. Yazmin bites her lip in stifled laughter._

"_It's cured with honey comb," said Artemisia, narrowing her eyes. _

"_Too sweet," said Xena, "got any port?" _

"_You could do with a little sweetening, my pretty barbarian." The Queen waved Yazmin away to fetch the port. "Come, let us lounge." _

"_I'm not really the lounging type." _

"_Then forgive me if I am," replied the Queen, moving to the chez and draping herself upon it with the grace of sultry tiger. _

_Xena walked a few feet away and leaned on the stone wall that led to an outcropping above the white rocky steppes. Below them, she could see the whole city spread out to view, the twinkling lights of candles like stars in the distant houses. Towering above all structures, however, is a half-finished squared building, its architecture quite Greek in form._

"_What's that you're commissioning?" asked Xena, gesturing to the building. _

_Artemisia looked to where the warrior was pointing, "The Mausoleum of Mausollos." _

_Xena quirked an eyebrow. _

"_My husband's tomb. Where I too shall someday be laid to rest." _

_The sullenness in her tone led Xena to abandon the view. "Artemisia, What am I doing here?" She barely noticed when Yazmin handed her a mug of port. _

_The Queen looked on at her with a new weariness, "What we discussed. You train my soldiers and I fund your campaign back in Greece." _

"_I know that's what you said," began Xena, pausing, "but, that's not what you really intend, is it?"_

_The dark irises of Artemisia's eyes caught a glint of candlelight, "You are too smart to be fooled. Don't get me wrong, Xena, I do intend to make the exchange if that is what you truly want. However, I was hoping that once here in my household, you might reconsider." The Queen rises from the chez and glides with such effortless grace to Xena's side. She puts two hands to either side of the young warlord's face. "What is a dirty band of rebel warriors to the grandeur of leading a Royal Guard for the Queen of Halicarnassus?" she posed, looking into the depths of those exotic crystalline eyes. _

_Xena smiled, her lips curled lushly around her feline white teeth. "Tempting," she whispered, pulling the shorter woman close, "very tempting. But I like getting dirty."_

"_I promise you, there is no shortage of muck in our barracks." _

"_You would offer me such a position?" _

_ "If you want it."_

_ "Why? You barely know me. I'm a Greek. I'm a warlord! I could slit your throat at any moment." _

_ Artemisia nipped at Xena's bottom lip, ran her hands over her shoulders, "All Persians are not as Greek-hating as Xerxes believes." _

_ "What are you saying?" asked Xena. _

_ "I'm saying I would not be so saddened if we were to lose at Salamis, even if we were to lose the war. My city is strong, fruitful, thriving. We have a fortuitous trade route with Athens, one that has been harmed by the war. Besides, I have respect for the Grecian people, for their art and poetry. Why do you think I taught myself your language beyond the scope of politics and business, that I hired Satyros and Pythius-two Greek architects-to design my husband's tomb?"_

_ "Okay, you're not too keen on the war effort. Why donate so much of your resources to Xerxes' cause, then?" asked Xena. _

_ "For many reasons, many among them that I cannot name. I am under much pressure from the Shah," Artemisia looked down. _

_ Xena put a finger under the Queen's chin and tilted it upward, "What kind of pressure?"_

_ "I will tell you, just not yet. I need to assure myself of your loyalty." _

_ Xena laughed, "You contradict yourself, my Queen. You trust me with your soul, your body, with your army, but not your secrets?"_

_ "Everyone must have some secrets," replied Artemisia. _

_ Xena considered this, a dark look betraying her thoughts. "True." _

_ Artemisia didn't seem to notice. "Come now, let us put aside such serious talk." Her fingers trailed down the warrior's muscled arms, making an aroused glimmer appear in blue eyes. _

_ "Yeah, lets," said Xena, her tone low and seductive. She takes a sip of her port, but instead of swallowing, she lets it dribble onto Artemisia's bottom lip and watches as it drips over her chin, down her neck, into the crevice of her bosom. The warrior follows the potent path with her tongue. _

"Form up!" Ahmet's tale is interrupted by Tetram calling ranks. Gabrielle looks wildly around, trying to place the Athenian fleet and figure out what Xena's tactic will be. She feels herself growing ever more weary, the more stories she collects about this fateful venture of her friend. She wishes Xena were here herself to tell it… chances are, she would spare the bard the more sensual parts. She turns to Ahmet.

"Listen to me," she says, hurriedly, "Remember what I told you. This war is not worth your lives. This is _not _your war. Tell your brothers, I beg you. Don't let your Shah lead you into hell."

Ahmet looked at this beaten blonde woman, and even through the blood and dirt smeared over her face, she still looks like the angel that Zami had seen. Perhaps she is not lying.

"I will try to convince them," he says.

"Oh, thank you!" exclaims Gabrielle, hugging the elder man out of sheer fatigue and relief. Now she just had to get back to Xena and make sure she doesn't launch an aggressive attack. She had to make sure her friend didn't repeat the sins of her past.


	11. X

X.

As an experience, madness is terrific I can assure you, and not to be sniffed at; and in its lava I still find most of the things I write about. It shoots out of one everything shaped, final, not in mere driblets, as sanity does. And the six months…that I lay in bed taught me a good deal about what is called oneself.

-V. Woolf in a letter to Ethyl Smith

"Hold the line steady!" calls Xena. Her muscles strain like the rope she holds firmly in hand. She and three other men lower a barrel of Greek fire over the side of the ship into a waiting rowboat below. Beside them, two other groups do the same.

"On deck!" a sailor shouts from the dingy. A few men hold the barrel and settle it as gently as possible in the bow of the boat.

"Release the line!" commands Xena, pulling the thick rope back over the lip. "Good, now I want you down in those boats and rowing toward the north shore! Wait for me there." The men look at her a little warily. "Now!" she shouts, her face taking on the bent of one driven mad with war. As if that very Greek fire had been lit beneath their arses, the soldiers begin to pour over the ship, scaling down the rope ladders.

"This is madness!" yells the Athenian naval captain, Themistocles. He had been the captain during the Persian wars, a war-hardened man, his face like the porous cliffs of the Grecian coast. "Do you hear me, Xena! Madness!"

Xena merely scowls and turns to keep issuing directives. "Go cry to your King," she dismisses.

But Themistocles rounds on the warrior woman, more incensed than he's ever been. "I will not have my men slaughtered! The Persian scum have the higher ground. It'll be a killing field!"

"Don't you think I know that?!" seethes Xena, not willing to waste time convincing a washed-up veteran gone soft in his old age. "That's why I'm sending them around to the north shore. There's cover in that cove and if Tetram wants to contest them, then he's either going to have to give up his position or split up his forces."

"And the Greek fire? They'll blow themselves to the gods!"

"That's the point," says Xena, turning away once more.

"I'll not take commands from a barbarian witch!" shouts Themistocles at her back. With swiftness and accuracy and with her own frustration strengthening the blow, Xena turns and backhands the man across the face. It knocks him out cold and his body falls like the leaden weight of an anchor upon the deck. Many men pause in their tasks to look on at this spectacle.

Xena merely stares at all of them, "Anyone else here have a problem following my orders?"

Not a single voice is raised in protest. "I'm in command here and there is no time for dissent," she says, her voice carrying with the wind to those scattered both on the bridge and on the main deck. "Now take him to the brig," she says, gesturing to Themistocles' unconscious heap. She turns from the soldiers who take up their legendary naval captain's limbs and drag him away.

Leaning against the side of the ship, Xena surveys the landscape with a severe eye. Through her mind runs endless orderings of the strategy Leonidas and she had come up with. She had taken command of the second ship, leaving the King of Athens on the main ship and the third in fleet to attack from the south shore. She would close in on Tetram like a pack of swarming dogs on a bovine carcass. And if he didn't take the bait, she would smoke him out. When the main contingent bearing the Greek fire rowed to shore, she would follow on her own, using the diversion of the attack to go after Gabrielle. The warrior feels a sense of panic overwhelm her, like she is trying to stare down a tidal wave.

"I'll find you, Gabrielle," she whispers, _even if I have to kill every last Persian in my path. _The thought startles her. If only my bard were here, she would quiet the bloodlust that I feel like a legion of Roman chariots racing through my veins. If her bard were here, what would she say? Xena shuts her eyes tightly, and her memory flies to a night during the time that the Furies had driven her insane.

_Wrapped only in a rough woolen blanket, which scratched at her bare skin, Xena followed the bard through the moonlit path between the trees. Despite the madness of the day, she felt strangely lucid with her hand held tightly in Gabrielle's. If nothing else was sane, then this was: following her bard out of the darkness. Just moments before, Gabrielle had found her standing stark naked in front of a small village on the outskirts of their campsite. Before her eyes had been a massacre: the women nailed to crosses, some with pregnant bellies, the children lying in heaps of congealing blood. The blood. The blood poured over her vision, until she found herself screaming and screaming and screaming. _

_ "Xena?" came Gabrielle's gentle voice. Apparently, they had arrived back at their campsite. The warrior looked at her companion, an unknowing, lost look taking hold in her eyes. _

_ "Xena, why don't you sit down by the fire, huh?" said Gabrielle, resting a hand on her friend's shoulder. _

_ But Xena began to cry, thick unstoppable tears that tangled her eyelashes and made it so hard to breathe. Somehow, the bard coaxed the warrior onto the ground and moved to sit behind her, her back propped on Argo's tack and saddlebags. She pulled Xena into her arms and cradled her head against her chest, making shushing noises that combed through the mire of the warrior's madness. _

_ "Oh gods… oh gods…" Xena cried, her pain like a stone in her mouth. _

_ "Look at that fire, huh?" she heard Gabrielle say, and then her lips pressed against her temple. "It's so bright and so warm. Look at the fire, Xena." _

_ Despite herself, she felt the need to obey, letting the distended light into her blurred vision. Gradually, the flames began to focus, and she felt the heat chase the chill away from her skin. And then she felt the bard's body pressed against hers and a new warmth flooded through. _

_ "Whenever you feel the violence overtaking you," Gabrielle continued, tightening her hold on Xena, "concentrate on your breathing, look at the fire. When fire is controlled, like in a pit, think how mesmerizing it is, how useful. You can dry your leathers near it. You can warm your hands. You can cook good meals, spit a trout and turn it that nice crispy brown color that you like-"_

_But Gabrielle stopped when she felt Xena's full lips press against the curve of her breast, just at the dip of her top where the lacing drew together. The warrior felt Gabrielle's sharp intake of breath. Taking that as a good sign, the elder woman continued her sensuous assault, kissing the fleshy line of her cleavage. But when her tongue took the place of her lips, she felt Gabrielle shift beneath her. _

_ "Xena," she breathed, her voice reduced to ash. The woman in question turned subtly in her friend's arms and looked up at the column of the bard's creamy neck. _

_ "You taste like a peach," said Xena, allowing the husk that her tears had borne to color her voice. Gabrielle merely flushed wickedly, from her chest to her cheeks. Finding that blush to be rather edible, Xena turned more fully in Gabrielle's arms so she supported herself on both hands and crept purposefully up the bard's body. In that moment, Gabrielle thought she looked like a panther stalking its prey from a darkened tree._

_ "I'm going to devour you, Gabrielle," said the feline woman, and as she crept, the blanket that had hidden her nakedness slipped from her body. She watched as the bard's stricken eyes slid over her revealed breasts, down the line of her taut stomach, then as they flicked back up and registered the unfamiliar glint in blue eyes. Gabrielle began to shake her head, her face a picture of confusion. _

_ "Don't," she whispered, bringing her hands up to rest on Xena's shoulders. She did not, however, push the warrior away. Xena merely smiled, knowing that look in her friend's eye. Slowly, she took Gabrielle's hand in her own and moved it down to mold it over her own breast. The feeling of the bard's smooth palm cupping her was exquisite. In fact, both women emitted very guttural sounds at the contact. The warrior pressed the bard's hand harder against herself. _

_ "Touch me, please" said Xena, "Make it go away, make the blood stop flowing." _

_ Gabrielle removed her hand immediately. "Stop Xena," she said. _

_But Xena merely lowered herself down and captured the fold of the bard's ear between her teeth, using her tongue to swirl around its shape. Her pleading was amplified in Gabrielle's mind, nearly driving the bard into making a very bad decision. "Stop it," she said, however not using any force to her words, she would not win this battle with violence. "Remember the fire," she said, as Xena moved on to her neck, licking and biting the sweet tasting skin. "Control the fire," she gasped, placing two hands on either side of Xena's face. With the gentleness of her words and her touch, Gabrielle forced Xena to look up at her. _

_ "Fire rages," said Xena, clarity starting to swim back into the pools of her eyes, "It destroys everything." _

_ "So bank it," reasoned Gabrielle, "control the fire." _

A light flares in Xena's eyes as she leans against the ship. Beneath the embarrassment of her memory, she finds a source of inspiration: _Control the fire._

"That's it," she whispers, the strong wind whipping her thoughts to the cliffs of Salamis where Tetram and his army sit in wait. Seeing that the rowboats had disappeared successfully around the bend in the cove, Xena checks her sword at her back, making sure it is held secure. Climbing up onto the side of the ship, Xena prepares her body to face the chill of the sea once more and jumps into the waves.


	12. XI

**A/N: ** I know disclaimers usually warn about homosexual content, but I figured with this fandom- be warned for there follows here some hetero-sex, also violence and foul language and everything that smacks of fun.

XI.

The sand slips tidally beneath her waterlogged boots and she feels as though she is running through an hourglass. Her wounded leg throbs, the saltwater doing nothing to alleviate the sharp burning sensation that tingled from the nerves in her foot all the way to the base of her neck. Gritting her teeth, the warrior continues toward the tree-line where she had instructed the contingent to pull the boats ashore and take cover.

"Xena!" a soldier hales from the shadow of thick jungle overgrowth. When she clears through, she finds a quarter of the Athenian Navy working hurriedly to haul the barrels of Greek fire out of the bows. Some break down small saplings, others assemble them in rows, still others begin to tie the ends together with simple, effective square knots.

"Report," Xena barks to Titos, the acting lieutenant. She gathers her dark hair in one hand and twists it in her palm to wring the water out.

"We've got the litters nearly assembled," replies Titos, procuring the map of Salamis from his belt.

"Good. Break it down to four men per litter, that makes eight groups, one per each barrel of Greek fire" begins Xena, stooping down to her haunches to where Titos had unfurled the map over a cropping rock. She points to the tiny depiction of a peninsula that extends from the eastern shore of the island, "that's were Tetram gained the high ground. He won't give it up unless we force him. We're gonna surround him in flames."

"The wind will take the fire to Kamatero and Selinia," Titos argues.

"It may," Xena scrubbed a hand over her face, a battle seeming to wage behind her eyes, "spare one man, send him to Kamatero to warn its civilians. Gabrielle will ride to Selinia."

"Gabrielle? But, I thought Tetram had captured the bard-"

"I'm getting her back," returns Xena, "which brings me to the final leg to our plan. You're going to instruct the southern group not to light their section until Gabrielle and I had safely made it through-"  
"You can't be serious! It's suicide!"

"Not lighting the oil will create a window that she and I can slip through. Give us a quarter candlemark to get through, if we don't make it by then, chances are we never will."

"But, you're the general-" Titos tries to reason.

"_Exactly_" Xena spits, grabbing Titos' collar and pulling him close to her face, "you have your orders." In Titos' eyes, Xena finds a golden highlight in that mossy iris and the colors remind her of a similar pair.

"_I said pick it up," the brazen warrior snarled, dragging the former Royal Guard Captain by his hair so that he knelt before her. She kicked the hilt of his sword toward him, but the beaten man managed only to catch himself before hitting the sandy floor of the training yard. _

_ "Pathetic," Xena hissed. She looked up at the gathered soldiers who had come to show their mutinous disagreement with the new captain Queen Artemisia had forced upon them. The demoted captain had stood pompously, his men behind him in ranks, and challenged Xena to a fight. She appreciated that sort of straightforwardness in a man, and even more in a soldier. There was nothing more sickening to her than a quiet subversion, which it looked like it might have become in the weeks since she had taken the captain's rank. However, as much as she esteemed this warrior, lessons had to be learned. Bending down, Xena took hold of his hair once more and forced him to look into her eyes. Blood poured from his nose and from his mouth, and between the swollen lid of his eye, she could tell that they were hazel, gold-flecked, rather beautiful. _

_ "Shall I kill you?" Xena asked, looking up at her translator that stood cowed nearby. The interpreter repeated her words in Farsi. _

_ The former captain nodded his head and Xena thought that she hadn't been properly understood. She repeated herself, tugging more harshly on the captain's hair. _

_ "Baleh," the captain sputtered, "kill me." _

_ Xena smiled, "You wish to die?" _

_ "I have been shamed," his words reached her ears from the mouth of the interpreter. _

_ "Fair enough," grunted Xena, releasing her hold on the captain and standing up. She drew the blade of her sword up, intent on a downward stroke that would cleave the man's head from his body. "Send a prayer to your War God," she said, ready to send her blade on its fatal arc. _

"_Xena!" came a stern, loud voice from above. Xena glanced up, the sunlight in her eyes, and cupped a hand over her brow. There, she found Artemisia standing on her balcony that overlooked the practice yard. "Release him," she ordered. _

_Xena emitted a sharp bark of laughter, "You heard him, my Queen, I've shamed him." _

_Artemisia maintained her regal pose, "Do as I say." _

_A scowl took shape on the warrior's face. Her sword still raised, she considered her options a moment. She could obey the Queen of Halicarnassus and defer to the sense of loyalty that seemed to run through the hearts of her people. Or, she could give into the hammering of blood in her temples, the insistent voice of war that said this man deserved to be put down, that he disobeyed his superior officer, that _he would have killed you _if the situation were reversed. Xena looked up at Artemisia once more and smirked. In one clean stroke, the former captain of the Royal Guard lay twitching in the blood-soaked sand. _

"_You were supposed to lead my Guard, not kill them!" Artemisia roared. _

_Xena stood in the middle of the royal chambers, her arms crossed over her chest, a bored look on her face. The Queen rounded on the warrior, her features flushed. _

"_Ibrahim was a good man, a good soldier, with a wife and five children who depended on him for their bread!" she continued. _

"_You're the Queen," said Xena, idly selecting an olive from a bowl that sat on a table, "give his family a stipend." _

"_This is what I planned, but that is not the point here!"_

"_It's not?" Xena raised an eyebrow, her voice dripping in feigned innocence. _

"_You know bloody well it isn't- You disobeyed a direct order! You undermined my authority in front of my subjects!" _

"_And you undermined my authority!" Xena yelled back, "I'm not gonna follow an order that I don't agree with. A leader of warriors must be tested and found strong, not weak. Your precious captain challenged me to a fight to the death. If I didn't kill him, I would lose the respect of your men! You want supreme control of the military? Fine, then give me my gold and send me back to Greece!"_

"_Don't think I won't!" Artemisia threatened. _

"_I know you won't," said Xena, lowering her voice into a honey-like cadence, "want to know why?" _

_ "I am not so beholden to you," Artemisia lifted her chin with false bravado, her words like a bee sting. _

_ "Yes you are," said Xena, pinning the Queen with her blue tempest eyes, "For all your royal fixings, you are a slave. You may know how to maneuver a few boats, but you do not know how to wage war. This makes you a slave to Xerxes, a slave to his war. Tell me, how is it being the Great Shah's personal _whore-"

_ The sharp slap across her face surprised her. Xena touched her reddening cheek, "Hit a nerve did I?" _

_ "How d-dare you!" the Queen stuttered, "How did you…?"_

_ "Please, all the lavish attention Xerxes showered on the boy? The King of Halicarnassus was no father to Tetram, in fact the kid's got a greater royal claim, doesn't he?" _

_ "Quiet," Artemisia ordered, tears now streaming down her face, the ink beneath her eyes running in black rivers. _

"_But, you know what they say, once a bastard always a bastard," Xena caught the Queen's hand this time when it came flying toward her face. The warrior held Artemisia's hand firmly in her own, "He'll never assume the throne of the Persian Empire. And if your little secret gets out, he won't rule Halicarnassus either." _

_ "Please, I beg you-"_

_ "Don't beg, it doesn't become you," Xena cut across, releasing Artemisia's hand and striding toward the balcony that sat just beyond an arched threshold. Xena swept through the sheer silk that hung draped over the archway and breathed deeply in the fragrant night air. _

_ "Xena, please," Artemisia followed her out, sinking to her knees at the warrior's feet. She grasped like a drowning woman at the leather fringe of Xena's battleskirt. "I'll double your sum, I'll give you the opals and the diamonds that belonged to my father before the war." _

_ "I don't want it," Xena said and felt such satisfaction in the desperate look that found purchase in the depths of the Queen's dark eyes. _

_ "What do you want? Name it and it is yours."_

_ Xena paused as if to think about it. "I want to help you," she relented. _

_ Artemisia looked at the Warrior Princess as one would while having a religious experience. "You do?" she asked in a very small voice. _

_ "Yes, I do. I do not wish for you to be a slave, Artemisia," Xena tried to disguise the excitement she felt while laying the careful framework for a plan that had been long in the making, "give me command of your military, including your navy. We will make Xerxes suffer for his gross underestimation of you, for treating you like a common whore. At Salamis, we will make him pay." _

_ "How?" Artemisia asked, accepting the strength of Xena's offered hand and standing. _

_ "You'll see," Xena replied, bringing the Queen's hand to her lips. _

_ Artemisia melted to Xena's flame, drawing the taller woman in and planting kisses to all planes of her face. "You are of heaven," she whispered. _

_ Xena smiled, seeking the Queen's mouth with a gentle, passionate kiss. _

_Later, when Xena made love to Artemisia, she made sure it was unhurried and tempered by sweetness and not violence. And when the Queen lay amongst the silken sheets and cushions, breathing deeply in a sated sleep, Xena crept from her side. She stole down the passageways that led to the barracks and knocked twice on the wooden door. _

_ It was opened by Kain, a brutish soldier in the Royal Guard. Upon seeing who his visitor was, Kain rushed forward and pinned Xena against the opposite wall, devouring her mouth with his own. His beard scratched against Xena's cheek and she instructed herself not to recoil at the man's scent. _

_ "Down boy," she muttered, biting down on his bottom lip. _

_ "I have dreamed of your cunt," said Kain, lifting Xena up and settling himself between her thighs. _

_ "Mmm," Xena purred, reaching down and securing his bulge in her palm. The man was, she admitted, well-endowed and she didn't mind too much having to manipulate him. She squeezed lightly and felt Kain's breath hitch and moaned when he bit down into her neck. _

_ "No more games, Xena," he grunted, "I want you now."_

_ Xena smiled a vicious smile, knowing that she had to relent this time, "I need you to deliver one more message." She wrapped her legs around his waist and unbuckled his belt. _

_ "Anything, Princess," he was so hard against her. _

_ Unbuttoning his trousers, Xena took his cock out squeezed the head, missing the way a man felt and how easy men were to undo and conquer. "I want you to go to Hellespont, find my man, Cyr of Corinth" she pressed Kain's manhood against her. _

_ "Yes," he hissed. _

_ "Tell him to march my army to the coast of Athens, across the bay from Salamis. Tell him to meet me there." She moaned and bit her lip when he entered her, utterly filled with the power of conquest. Behind her eyes fell a curtain of blood, and she felt the lust of War flowing through her with strength, with finality and with purpose. _

A fleet of arrows raining down upon them breaks Xena's thoughts.

"Take cover!" she screams, "Go to your posts!"

The soldiers take up their litters of heavy oil barrels and make haste through the jungle. Xena reaches out and snatches Titos' arm.

"Wait for my signal," she commanded.

"Aye, General," Titos saluted.

When most of the men had departed, Xena sprinted out of range of the Persian archers and leapt into the higher branches of a cypress tree. From the perch, she could make out the side of the cliff that provided the most direct route to where Tetram's army sat.

"Hold on, Gabrielle," she whispered, "I'm coming."


	13. XII

**A/N: **Very sincere apologies for so long an interim between updates. The next chapter will follow soon. Thank you for continuing on in this saga!

XII.

_With broken oars and fragments of the wrecks,_

_Struck us and clove us; and at once a cry_

_Of lamentation filled the briny sea, _

_Till the black darkness' eye did rescue us. _

The Battle of Salamis, Aeschylus

"I don't know what she plans to do," Gabrielle concedes in a low voice. The small group of Persian soldiers listen intently to Ahmet as he translates. Once the words are uttered, there is a collective grimace and shuffle; a few speak out in gruff dissent.

"They don't trust you," says Ahmet to Gabrielle, "you can understand, we will all be tried for treason if Xerxes discovers our agreement with you."

"I'm telling you," the bard pleads, "if I can just talk to Xena, I know she'll call off the-"

But she is interrupted by manic shouts from ahead. Whirling around, Gabrielle looks down from the lip of the cliff and sees with wide eyes, the jungle below crowned in flames. Limping along the edge, she sees that the Greeks have created a circle of fire around the base of the cliff, cutting off the Persian's path of retreat-except for one small pocket of space. This is the chance she has been waiting for: This is Xena's signal. Without thinking, Gabrielle scrambles to lower herself on the nearest ledge.

Another shout causes the bard to look up. Tetram himself stalks toward her, pushing his men out of the way.

"Seize her!" cries the Shah, but no one moves to obey the command. In her chest, Gabrielle feels a heartbeat as erratic as a rabbit caught in a snare. Being very near a fatal fall, however, she cannot move out of his warpath. A trickle of fear falls down her spine like a string. Suddenly, her blonde hair is yanked viciously upward. A scream rips from the bard's throat and she reaches up trying to claw at his grip. Ahmet appears beside his Shah, a debate clearly volleying behind his eyes. And yet then, at this most dire moment, Gabrielle receives into her mind a sound like the ringing of celebration bells.

"A-la-la-la-la!" comes the piercing war-cry. A shape blurs by overhead and there, standing squarely, solidly behind Tetram is the Warrior Princess herself.

"Take your paws off her," Xena growls. Gabrielle feels a current pull through her chest at the sight of her friend, alive and well and… _mad_. The Shah releases his hold on the bard and barely has time enough to turn, when Xena rips his arm backward-nearly dislodging the bone from its socket-and sends him sailing against a jagged piece of rock.

At once, Xena is assaulted by a deluge of sharp, curved Persian blades. Drawing her sword, she manages to fend off the front-most men. The soldiers continue to draw her in as she simultaneously tries to disengage and get back to Gabrielle. They only have so much time to get through the southern pass before the Athenian infantry light the last of the oil.

"Gabrielle!" Xena screams, sending the tip of her blade into the cavity of a man's chest.

"No! Stop!" Gabrielle yells back, knowing that her entire plan for the Persian subversion is being ruined by every arc of Xena's blade. But the Warrior Princess cannot hear her over the din of battle and the roar of the fire.

"Get through the pass!" Xena twirls and wrenches the arm of one soldier to throw him bodily against three of his comrades.

"I'm not leaving you!" says Gabrielle, now back on her feet and at her friend's side. She brandishes her chained hands, catching the downward arc of a sword and twisting it so that it pulls free from the soldier's grip. Now, with a sword, Gabrielle slashes back and forth, driving those away from Xena's flank. The wild movement allows them a brief interlude and Xena grabs Gabrielle's arm and pulls her away, back toward the edge of the cliff.

As they drop down to the ledge, a fleet of flaming arrows fly overhead toward the peak, catching the Persian soldiers in chests and arms and legs. Screams color the air as the chaos of war overtakes them. Crouching down, huddled against the side of the cliff, Xena throws herself like a human shield around Gabrielle's small body. When the first barrage is over, Xena moves off her friend. After the past days which felt more like empty, black years-both warrior and bard look at one another, savoring the warmth of their connection. Tears spring unabashed to green eyes, tinted orange in the light of the flames.

"Miss me?" she breathes, looking at the state of her friend for the first time, "Gods-"

"I'm fine," smiles Gabrielle.

"Get on my back," Xena instructs.

Gabrielle is about to voice her disagreement, but looks first over the sheer face of the cliff. Giving a short nod, Gabrielle loops her arms around Xena's neck as the warrior wraps the end of her whip around a sturdy-looking root.

"Don't let go," says Xena, her voice reduced to a whisper at their proximity; the bard can feel the tickle of her friend's breath on the side of her neck.

"Never," Gabrielle replies. And then they are airborne, flying through the air as a bird would swoop upon its earthbound prey. The length of the whip detaches from the root and they are free-falling until Xena reaches out and catches them on a hanging vine. The force of the fall jars Gabrielle's grip and she feels herself slipping.

"Xena!"

The warrior reaches behind her and wraps an arm protectively around Gabrielle's chest, hauling her up. Now with the bard secured, Xena positions the vine between the curve of her boots and they zip down hundreds of feet in seconds. Another fleet of arrows fly overhead. Once down on the sloping terrain, Xena turns and drawls Gabrielle's arm up over her shoulder to support her weight.

The deafening sound of another explosion causes them to look ahead.

"Son-of-a-Bacchae!" Xena curses as they watch their only path of retreat go up in flames, "Come on!"

They take off in a sprint toward the edge of the jungle, slowed and awkward by Gabrielle's re-injured ankle. When they get to a point where the flames are nearly licking at their boots, Xena stops and turns to the bard.

"Do you trust me?" she asks.

"Do Amazons dance?" Gabrielle replies.

Xena grins and shakes her head, detaching her whip once more from her belt. With a mighty cast, she secures the end around a tree branch high overhead. Taking her cue, Gabrielle once again climbs onto Xena's back. Emitting a battlecry that could be heard echoing through the halls of Olympus, Xena springs up and launches them into the air once more.

A Greek archer kneeling behind the cover of a felled tree looks up from notching another arrow on his bow. What he sees then he will later re-tell to his friends at the local tavern and they to their friends until the witness itself becomes a tale told by the bedside of children in the far-off future. What he sees is a warrior in a chariot of fire, flying like a phoenix through the air, with an angel clinging to her back.

Landing beside the archer, Xena coils her whip hurriedly and turns to Gabrielle.

"I want you to go back to the northern shore, you'll find a boat. There's a ship in harbor-"

"Xena the fire! It's already spreading faster than you expected. The villages-"

"I already have a man in route to Kamatero."

"And Selinia?"

Xena's expression hardens.

"Xena those people will be trapped. We have to warn them," Gabrielle implores, taking both her friend's shoulders in hand.

"You're too weak. If I had known what that beast had done to you-"

"Let me go. It's the only way! I've studied the maps, I know exactly where Selinia lies in the south."

"No!" the word is a slap, "No, I've already acted against my better judgment with you and look where it got us."

"Do we have to have this fight again?" Gabrielle shakes her head, gazing up at her friend with such sudden passion, "it's the Greater Good."

A firm, foul look passes over Xena's features, but before she can hogtie the bard, the archer that had been observing this spectacle clears his throat. Both warrior and bard turned distractedly to him.

"If it pleases you, Princess," says the archer, "I'll accompany her to Selinia, make sure no harm comes to her."

Torn between slapping this young soldier for giving Gabrielle more reason and throwing the bard over her shoulder, Xena lets out a defeated grunt.

"I'll lead the villagers to the northern shore; there must be room on the ships to take them safely back to Athens."

"Yes, it'll be a tight fit with Kamatero as well, but we'll have to make due. Damn!" Xena kicks an offending root.

"What is it?" asks Gabrielle.

Xena puts her hands on her hips, looks up beyond her sweaty bangs beyond the growing flames and up at the blue sky. "I hoped to end this here."

"You wanted to draw them into a naval battle," finishes the archer.

"Yes," Xena bites, "but it looks like we'll have to retreat back to Athens, re-group there."

"I think that's wise, Xena," says Gabrielle, laying a hand on her friend's arm. She hesitates as to whether or not she should tell Xena about her persuasive attempts with Ahmet and his like. She thinks that discussion will be better suited to a calmer time, when they are back in Athens. Gabrielle knew Xena could never entertain peace with war clamoring so heavily at her heels.

The Warrior Princess gives the bard a pained look. They both do not wish to separate again, especially when they had so recently found one another. Xena glances at the flames, can feel their heat like a desert sun. She looks back at Gabrielle. "Be safe," she whispers.

"I'll meet you at dusk," Gabrielle replies quietly. And then, it is as if the fire melted their world away and only they stood at the edge of a volcanic precipice. Finding again her new resolve, Xena decides to jump into the flames. She leans down and bestows upon a very surprised bard, an imploring kiss, one unmistakable in its designs. Gabrielle can barely respond before it is over, with Xena pulling back and smiling briefly and disappearing into the thick smoke of the jungle.


End file.
